“Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?” said the parson, as he gabbled on with the service.

“Aye, I will!” responded Manners, in a clear ringing voice which was echoed among the rafters of the roof, and he took her to his bosom and sealed the pledge with a kiss—­a proceeding so unusual and peculiar that the good clergyman opened his eyes and mouth, until finally he came to a full stop.

“I will!” repeated Manners, addressing the parson, “but why do you stop?” and he looked suspiciously behind to see if his pursuers had come to rob him of his prize.  There was no one there, however, save a few rustics, who, prompted by sheer curiosity, had entered the church and stood lingering just within the sacred portal, and in a few minutes more the lovers emerged from the little church, safely joined together in the bonds of holy wedlock, followed by the parson, who wore a smiling face, inasmuch as he had been rewarded with a gift far beyond his utmost expectations.  But the two lovers were far happier than he, and with the certificate of marriage, signed, sealed, and entered in the register, they remounted their steeds and proceeded at a steady pace to Nottingham Castle, where, the Earl of Rutland having unexpectedly returned, he extended a right hearty welcome to his nephew and his beautiful bride.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

Peace at last.

  Nor was she to be found!  Her father cried,
  “’Tis but to make a trial of his love!”
  And filled his glass to all, but his hand shook,
  And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.

  Rogers.

Still at Haddon the fun maintained its uproarious course, and amid the whirl of festivity Dorothy’s absence was not remarked.

Sir Edward Stanley was far too elated with the vision of success which had opened out before him to bore Dorothy with his presence on this occasion, but in spite of this he rarely let his eyes depart from watching her.

“Hi, Sir Edward,” cried an inquisitive old dame from one of the deep window recesses.  “Hither, good knight, for I would talk with thee awhile.”

He could not very well resist such a direct appeal, but he took his seat beside her unwillingly enough.

“I hear, Sir Edward,” confidentially began the dame, “that in a month you are to wed Mistress Dorothy Vernon; is that so?”

“It is,” he replied, curtly.

“You are a lucky knight, then,” she replied, “for, except my Isabel, Dorothy is the fairest maiden I have ever clapt eyes on.  But then, Isabel, forsooth, is not so rich.  We cannot all be Vernons, you know, though if everybody had their deserts we—­”

“Yes, I trow that she is rich and fair; but for neither of these do I care so much as her love,” gallantly responded Stanley.

“Tut, now, Sir Edward,” pursued his tormentor, “both you and I know full well that people marry for riches and rank, not for beauty.  You marry for riches, I suppose, and she for rank.  Now, sir knight, am I not right?” she asked triumphantly.