“Without a doubt, my son, with the consent of the parents;” and again he looked at him.
“And if there were no parents?”
“Then with the consent of the guardian, the bride being under age.”
“And if no guardian had been declared or admitted?”
“Then such a marriage duly solemnized, being a sacrament of the Church, would hold fast until the crack of doom unless the Pope annulled it, and, as you know, the Pope is out of favour in this realm on this very matter of marriage. Let me explain the law to you, ecclesiastic and civil——”
But Christopher was already running towards the gate, so the old parson’s lecture remained undelivered.
The two met in the snow, Emlyn Stower riding on ahead and leaving them together.
“What is it, sweetest?” he asked. “What is it?”
“Oh! Christopher,” she answered, weeping, “my poor father is dead—murdered, or so says Emlyn.”
“Murdered! By whom?”