Thinking over the vicar's distinctions about things as they are and things as they seem, a sudden objection occurred to me.
"If Molly was actually married, whether she remembered it afterwards or not, what became of the wedding ring?" To this objection I could find no reply. And so the vicar's explanation, in my mind, fell to the ground, and I was as much at sea as ever. For Molly, who was always as true and candid as a mirror, was now … but I could not put the thing into words.
CHAPTER XXXVI
A DAY OF FATE
This was the day when all the villainy came to a head and did its worst and met with the first instalment of exposure. I have told you what was done at the church and what was our own bewilderment, not knowing what to believe or how to explain things. For my own part, though I might have guessed, because I had discovered the jealousy of Lady Anastasia; yet the truth, even the possibility of the truth, never came into my head. I had no manner of doubt, in my own mind, that it was Molly herself, and none other, whom I saw standing as a bride at the altar rails with Lord Fylingdale for a bridegroom. The fact, I say, admitted of no dispute. Yet, why should Molly change her mind? And why should she deny the fact?
I sought her at the house. I begged her to come into the garden and to talk with me privately. Then I asked those two questions. Her answer to both of them was most amazing.
"Jack," she said, "I know not what you mean. I have not changed my mind. It is impossible for me to marry a man of whom such things can be said unless he can prove that they are false. How can you think that I have changed my mind? As regards this talk about an early wedding, what do I know about it? At six o'clock I was in the kitchen with my mother and Nigra. I have not been out of the house at all."
Then I persisted. I asked her if she could have gone out and had perhaps forgotten.
"Forgotten!" she repeated, scornfully. "Do you suppose that a woman could by any possibility forget her own wedding? But what is it, Jack? What is in your mind?"
Then I told her. "Molly," I said, "last night I forgot your letter. There was so much to think and talk about with these disclosures that I forgot. This morning I remembered. Then I hurried ashore. I ran to the 'Crown'; it was just upon six. I was too late. His lordship had gone out in a chair. I ran to the church. It was just after six. The doors were open; I heard voices. I went in, Molly—do not say that I am dreaming—I saw you—you I say—you, yourself—with your pink silk cloak, the hood pulled over your head, a domino to hide your face—just as had been arranged."