If ever Val felt convicted of utter cowardice, he felt so then.  All the wretched sophistry by which he had been beguiled into the step, by which he had beguiled himself; all the iniquity of his past conduct to Miss Ashton, rose up before his mind in its naked truth.  He dared not reply to the doctor for very shame.  A sorry figure he cut, standing there, Lady Maude beside him.

“The last time you entered my house, Lord Hartledon, it was to speak of your coming marriage with Anne—­”

“And you would like him to go there again and arrange it,” interrupted the incensed dowager, whose head had begun to nod so vehemently that she could not stop it.  “Oh yes, I dare say!”

“By what right have you thus trifled with her?” continued the Rector, ignoring the nodding woman and her words, and confronting Lord Hartledon.  “Is it a light matter, think you, to gain a maiden’s best love, and then to desert her for a fresh face?  You have been playing fast-and-loose for some little time:  and I gave you more than one opportunity of retiring, if you so willed it—­of openly retiring, you understand; not of doing so in this secret, disreputable manner.  Your conscience will prick you in after-life, unless I am mistaken.”

Val opened his lips, but the Rector put up his hand.

“A moment yet.  That I am not endeavouring to recall Anne’s claims on you in saying this, I am sure you are perfectly aware, knowing me as you do.  I never deemed you worthy of her—­you know that, Lord Hartledon; and you never were so.  Were you a free man at this moment, and went down on your knees to implore me to give you Anne, I would not do it.  You have forfeited her; you have forfeited the esteem of all good men.  But that I am a Christian minister, I should visit your dishonour upon you as you deserve.”

“Will you cease?” raved the dowager; and Dr. Ashton wheeled round upon her.

“There is less excuse for your past conduct, madam, than for his.  You have played on Lord Hartledon’s known irresolution to mould him to your will.  I see now the aim of the letter you favoured me with at Cannes, when you requested, with so much candour, that he might be left for a time unfettered by any correspondence with Miss Ashton.  Well, you have obtained your ends.  Your covetous wish that you and your daughter should reign at Hartledon is on the point of being gratified.  The honour of marrying Lady Maude was intended both by you and her for the late Lord Hartledon.  Failing him, you transferred your hopes to the present one, regardless of who suffered, or what hearts or honour might be broken in the process.”

“Will nobody put this disreputable parson outside?” raved the dowager.

“I do not seek to bring reproach home to you; let that, ladies, lie between yourselves and conscience.  I only draw your attention to the facts; which have been sufficiently patent to the world, whatever Lord Hartledon may think.  And now I have said my say, and leave you; but I declare that were I performing this burlesque of a marriage, as that young clergyman is about to do, I should feel my prayers for the divine blessing to attend it were but a vain mockery.”