“Not in this Holy House, which these infamous and shameless persons have desecrated with their profane embraces,” interrupted Mr. Knight.
“Yes, according to your ideas it will be almost a case of re-consecration. You’ll have to write to the bishop about it, Mr. Parson. Oh! confound you. Don’t stand there like a couple of stuck pigs, but come out of that and let us have a little chat in the churchyard.”
Now, at the first words that reached their ears Godfrey and Isobel had drawn back from each other and stood side by side quite still before the altar, as a pair about to be married might do.
They were dumbfounded, and no wonder. As might be expected Isobel was the first to recover herself.
“Come, my dear,” she said in a clear voice to Godfrey, “my father and yours wish to speak to us. I am glad we have a chance of explaining matters so soon.”
“Yes,” said Godfrey, but in a wrathful voice, for he felt anger stirring in him. Perhaps it was excited by that ancient instinct which causes the male animal to resent the spying upon him when he is courting his female as the deadliest of all possible insults, or perhaps by some prescience of affronts which were about to be offered to him and Isobel by these two whom he knew to be bitterly hostile. At least his temper was rising, and like most rather gentle-natured men when really provoked and cornered, he could be dangerous.
“Yes,” he repeated, “let us go out and see this matter through.”
So they went, Sir John and Mr. Knight drawing back a little before them, till they were brought to a halt by the horrible memorial which the former had erected over his wife’s grave. Here they stood, prepared for the encounter. Sir John was the first to take the lists, saying:
“Perhaps you will explain, Isobel, why I found you, as I thought, kissing this young fellow—like any village slut beneath a hedge.”
Isobel’s big eyes grew steely as she answered: