She was actually going; but Grace caught her by the arm.  “No, no, you shall not leave me so.”

“Ay, but I will.”  And Jael’s eyes, so mild in general, began to sparkle with anger, at being detained against her will; but, generous to the last, she made no use of her great strength to get clear from Grace.

“You will not go, if you are the woman you were.  I believe your words, I believe your honest face, I implore your forgiveness.  I am the most miserable creature in this world.  Pray do not abandon me.”

This appeal, made with piteous gestures and streaming eyes, overpowered Jael Dence, and soon they were seated, rocking together, and Grace pouring out her heart.

Jael then learned, to her dismay, that Grace’s belief in Henry’s falsehood was a main cause of this sudden marriage.  Had she believed her Henry true, she would have mourned him, as a widow, two years at least.

The unhappy young lady lamented her precipitation, and the idea of marrying Mr. Coventry to-morrow became odious to her.  She asked Jael wildly whether she should not be justified in putting an end to her life.

Jael consoled her all she could; and, at her request, slept in the same bed with her.  Indeed she was afraid to leave her; for she was wild at times, and said she would prefer to be married to that dead hand people said was at the Town hall, and then thrown into one grave with it.  “That’s the bridal I long for,” said she.

In the morning she was calmer, and told Jael she thought she was doing right.

“I shall be neither more nor less wretched for marrying this poor man,” said she:  “and I shall make two people happy; two people that deserve the sacrifice I make.”

So, after all, the victim went calmly.

Early in the morning came a letter from Dr. Fynes.  He was confined by gout, and sorry to say the ceremony he had hoped to perform must be done by his curate.

Now this curate was quite a stranger to Grace, and indeed to most people in Hillsborough.  Dr. Fynes himself knew nothing about him except that he had come in answer to his inquiry for a curate, had brought good letters of recommendation, and had shown himself acquainted with the learned doctor’s notes to Apollonius Rhodius; on which several grounds the doctor, who was himself a better scholar than a priest, had made him his curate, and had heard no complaints, except from a few puritanical souls.  These he looked on as barbarians, and had calmly ignored them and their prejudices ever since he transferred his library from St. John’s College, Cambridge, to St. Peter’s Rectory, and that was thirty years ago.

This sudden substitute of an utter stranger for Dr. Fynes afflicted Grace Carden not a little, and her wedding-day began with a tear or two on that account.  But, strange as it may appear, she lived to alter her mind, and to thank and bless Mr. Beresford for taking her old friend’s place on that great occasion.