"What does it mean? Tell me, she devil—what does it mean? Where is Molly? But this is play acting. This is not a marriage."
"I fear, my lord," said the parson, "that it is a marriage. The registers are in the strong box. They cannot be altered."
"Go after the clerk, man. Order him to give up the keys. Tear the pages out of the registers."
"I cannot," said Mr. Purdon. "I dare not. The man is a witness of this marriage; he has seen the entry in the register. I dare not alter them or destroy a single page. I have done a great deal for your lordship, but this thing I cannot do. It is a marriage, I say. You are married to the Lady Anastasia here."
"Talk! talk! Go after the man. Bring back the man. Tear the keys from him. Silence the man! Buy his silence! Buy—I will murder him, if I must, in order to stop his tongue."
"Your lordship forgets your bride—your happy, smiling, innocent bride!"
He cursed her. He raised his hand as if to strike her down, but forbore.
"I told you," she continued, "that in everything I was at your service—except in one thing. Tear the registers; murder the clerk; but the bride will be left. And if you murder her as well you will be no nearer the possession of the lovely Molly."
The bridegroom sank into a chair. He was terrible to look at, for his wrath and disappointment deprived him of the power of speech. Where was now the cold and haughty front? It was gone. He sat in the chair, upright, his face purple, his eyes starting from his head as one who hath some kind of fit.
The clergyman, still in his white surplice, looked on and trembled, for his old pupil was in a murderous frame of mind. There was no knowing whom he might murder. Besides, he had before this divined the true meaning of the visit to Lynn; and he foresaw ruin to himself as well as his patron.