‘Ain’t we bringing him up fighting fit?’ cried Jack exultingly. ‘Shows that all the care we have taken of him in the last twenty-four hours has not been wasted. That’s the sort I like—game as a pebble! You can’t buy ’em, you have to breed ’em. A regular fizzer _he_ is, and full of blood. And here we are on the ground.’ It was a low, old-fashioned, grey church, with a Gothic entrance and two niches on either side, which spoke of pre-Lutheran days. Cheap modern shops, which banked it in, showed up the quaint dignity of the ancient front. The side-door was open, and they passed into its dim-lit interior, with high carved pews, and rich, old, stained glass. Huge black oak beams curved over their heads, and dim inscriptions of mediæval Latin curled and writhed upon the walls. A single step seemed to have taken them from the atmosphere of the nineteenth to that of the fifteenth century. ‘What a ripping old church!’ Jack whispered. ‘You can’t buy ’em. But it’s as festive as an ice-house. There’s a friendly native coming down the aisle. He’s your man, Hale, if you want the news.’ The verger was not in the best of tempers. ‘It’s at a quarter to four,’ said he, as Hale met him. ‘No, no, at eleven.’ ‘Quarter to four, I tell you. The vicar says so.’ ‘Why, it’s not possible.’ ‘We have them at all hours.’ ‘Have what?’ ‘Buryin’s.’ ‘But this is a marriage.’ ‘I’m sure I beg your pardon, sir. I thought when I looked at you as you was the party about the child’s funeral.’ ‘Good heavens, no.’ ‘It was something in your expression, sir, but now that I can see the colour of your clothes, why of course I know better. There’s three marriages—which was it?’ ‘Crosse and Selby are the names.’ The verger consulted an old crumpled notebook. ‘Yes, sir, I have it here. Mr. or Miss Crosse to Mr. or Miss Selby. Eleven o’clock, sir, _sharp_. The vicar’s a terrible punctual man, and I should advise you to take your places.’ ‘Any hitch?’ asked Frank nervously, as Hale returned. ‘No, no.’ ‘What was he talking about?’ ‘Oh, nothing. Some little confusion of ideas.’ ‘Shall we go up?’ ‘Yes, I think that we had better.’ Their steps clattered and reverberated through the empty church as they passed up the aisle. They stood in an aimless way before the altar rails. Frank fidgeted about, and made sure that the ring was in his ticket-pocket. He also took a five-pound note and placed it where he knew he could lay his hands upon it easily. Then he sprang round with a flush upon his cheeks, for one of the side-doors had been flung open with a great bustle and clanging. A stout charwoman entered with a tin pail and a mop. ‘Put up the wrong bird that time,’ whispered Jack, and sniggered at Frank’s change of expression.