“Not at all, sir,” replied the man.  “We have been lighting it up for my lord’s marriage.  They have just gone in.”

“Lighting it up for what?” exclaimed Dr. Ashton.

“For my lord’s marriage, sir.  He’s marrying Lady Maude.  It’s the old dowager, sir, who has got it up in this queer way,” continued the man, venturing on a little confidential gossip with his Rector.

Dr. Ashton paused to collect his wits ere he walked into the chapel.  The few wax-candles the servants had been able to put about only served to make the gloom visible.  The party were taking their places, the young clergyman directing them where to stand.  He opened his book and was commencing, when a hand was laid upon Hartledon’s shoulder.

“Lord Hartledon, what is the meaning of this?”

Lord Hartledon recognised the voice, and broke into a cold perspiration.  He gave no answer; but the countess-dowager made up for his silence.  Her temper, none of the mildest, had been considerably exasperated by the visit of the fox-hunters; it was made worse by the arrival of Mr. Carr.  When she turned and saw what this formidable interruption was, she lost it altogether, as few, calling themselves gentlewomen, can lose it.  As she peered into the face of Dr. Ashton, her own was scarlet and yellow, and her voice rose to a shriek.

“You prying parson, where did you spring from?  Are you not ashamed to dodge Lord Hartledon in his own house?  You might be taken up and imprisoned for it.”

“Lord Hartledon,” said Dr. Ashton, “I—­”

“How dare you persist, I ask you?” shrieked the old woman, whilst the young clergyman stood aghast, and Mr. Carr folded his arms, and resolutely fixed his eyes on the floor.  “Because Hartledon once had a flirtation with your daughter, does that give you leave to haunt him as if you were his double?”

“Madam,” said Dr. Ashton, contriving still to subdue his anger, “I must, I will speak to Lord Hartledon.  Allow me to do so without disturbance.  Lord Hartledon, I wait for an answer:  Are you about to marry this young lady?”

“Yes, he is,” foamed the dowager; “I tell you so.  Now then?”

“Then, madam,” proceeded the doctor, “this marriage owes its rise to you.  You will do well to consider whether you are doing them a kindness or an injury in permitting it.  You have deliberately set yourself to frustrate the hopes of Lord Hartledon and my daughter:  will a marriage, thus treacherously entered into, bring happiness with it?”

“Oh, you wicked man!” cried the dowager.  “You would like to call a curse upon them.”

“No,” shuddered Dr. Ashton; “if a curse ever attends them, it will not be through any wish of mine.  Lord Hartledon, I knew you as a boy; I have loved you as a son; and if I speak now, it is as your pastor, and for your own sake.  This marriage looks very like a clandestine one, as though you were ashamed of the step you are taking, and dared not enter on it in the clear face of day.  I would have you consider that this sort of proceeding does not usually bring a blessing with it.”