“I mean, Kate,” answered Sir Richard, not unkindly, but so resolutely that his words fell upon her ear like a knell, “that the best and safest plan of curing thee of thy fond and foolish fancy, which can never come to good, is to wed thee with a man who will make thee a kind and loving husband, and will maintain thee in the state to which thou hast been born.  Wherefore, prepare to wed with Sir Robert Fortescue without delay, for to him I will give thy hand in wedlock so soon as we can have thee ready to be his bride.”

Kate stood for a moment as if transfixed and turned to stone, and then she suddenly sank upon her knees at her father’s feet.

“Father,” she said, in a strange, choked voice, that indicated an intense emotion and agitation, “thou canst not make me the wife of another; for methinks I am well nigh, if not altogether, the wife of my cousin Culverhouse.”

“What?” almost shouted Sir Richard, making one step forward and seizing his daughter by the arm.  “Wretched girl, what is this that thou sayest?  The wife of thy cousin Culverhouse!  Shame upon thee for so base a falsehood!  How dost thou dare to frame thy lips to it?”

“It is no falsehood!” answered Kate, with flashing eyes, springing to her feet and confronting her parents with all her old courage, and with a touch of defiance.  “I would have kneeled to ask your pardon for my rashness, for my disobedience, for the long concealment; but I am no liar, I speak but the truth.  Listen, and I will tell all.  It was on May Day, and I rode forth into the forest and distanced pursuit, and joined my cousin Culverhouse, as we had vowed to do.  We thought then of naught but the joy of a day together in the forest, and had not dreamed of such a matter as wedlock.  But then to the church porch came one calling himself a priest.  They say he comes every year, and weds all who will come to him.  And many did.  And Culverhouse and I stood before him, and he joined our hands, and we made our vows, and he pronounced us man and wife before all assembled there.  And whether it be binding wedlock or no, it is to us a solemn betrothal made before God and man; and not all the commands thou couldst lay upon me, my father, could make me stand up and vow myself to another as I have vowed myself to Culverhouse.  I should hold myself forsworn; I should be guilty of the vilest crime in the world.  Thou wilt not ask it of me.  Thou canst not know, even as I do not know, whether that wedlock is not valid before man, as it is before God.”

A thunderbolt falling between them could scarcely have produced more astonishment and dismay.  Lady Frances sank back in her seat white with horror and bewilderment, whilst Sir Richard stood as if turned to stone; and when at last he was able to speak, it was to order Kate to her room in accents of the sternest anger, bidding her not to dare to leave it until he brought her forth himself.