“You are both of a mind, children?” says the old man, looking from one to the other. “But I see you are,” he says, and opened his book.
So we were married, and as the parson said his last word I took my wife in my arms and kissed her for the first time.
By that time I was well nigh amazed with the succession of conflicting emotions that I had experienced during the day and night. I could not believe that things were real. I stood staring at Alison and old Parson Drumbleforth. She smiled at me, and then seemed to recollect herself.
“John,” says she, “do you and Humphrey see to your arms, and give my husband those that you have prepared for him. There may be need for them, but I think not. Now——” she left the parlour, and crossed the hall. She flung open the door. “I am ready for you, Master Anthony,” she cried. “Will you step this way with your friend?”
She came back and stood at my side, putting out her hand to touch mine. And then came Anthony Dacre, followed by the other man, and they stopped on the threshold and stared at us.
Faith! I am not sure that I did not pity Anthony as he stood there. He looked at Alison and at me, and from us to old Parson Drumbleforth, and at sight of him his face turned from red to black, and from black to white. He looked back to Alison. “Tricked!” he says. She looked steadily at him: his eyes dropped: he turned to the door. But Merciful Wiggleskirk had followed them in, and had now closed the door behind them, and stood against it with a pistol in his hand.
Anthony Dacre turned to sudden rage. “Let me go,” he says.
“When Master Drumbleforth has answered some questions,” says Alison. She turned to the old man. “This afternoon,” she says, “Anthony Dacre asked me to marry him. Have you aught to say to that, sir?”
“Child,” says old Drumbleforth, “He is married already—I married him myself in my parish church of Darrington.”
“He has brought a clergyman with him to perform the ceremony,” says she, still watching Anthony. “Step forward, friend—let us look at you.”