‘What profane wretch,’ said the Reverend Mr. Portpipe, emerging from the church, ‘what profane wretch is swearing in the very gate of the temple?’ and seeing by the bridegroom’s confusion that he was the culprit, he reprimanded him severely, and declared he would not marry him that day. The very thought of such a disappointment was too much for poor Robin to bear, and, after one or two ineffectual efforts to speak, he distorted his face into a most rueful expression, and struck up such a roar of crying as completely electrified the Rev. Mr. Portpipe, whose wrath, nevertheless, was not to be mollified by Robin’s grief and contrition, but yielded at length to the intercessions of Mr. Forester. Robin’s face cleared up in an instant, and the natural broad grin of his ruddy countenance shone forth through his tears like the sun through a shower. ‘You are such an honest and warm-hearted fellow,’ said Mr. Forester, putting a bank-note into Robin’s hand, ‘that you must not refuse me the pleasure of making this little addition to Mistress Susan’s consolidated fund.’—‘Od rabbit me!’ said the bridegroom, overcome with joy and surprise, ‘I doan’t know who thee beest, but thee beesn’t General Reason, that’s vor zartin.’ The rustic party then followed the Reverend Mr. Portpipe into the church. Robin, when he reached the porch, looked round over his shoulder to Mr. Fax, and said with a very arch look, ‘My dutiful sarvice to General Reason.’ And looking round a second time before he entered the door, added: ‘and Zukey’s too.’ CHAPTER XXXVI THE VICARAGE When the Rev. Mr. Portpipe had despatched his ‘press of business,’ he set before his guests in the old oak parlour of the vicarage a cold turkey and ham, a capacious jug of ‘incomparable ale,’ and a bottle of his London Particular; all which, on trial, were approved to be excellent, and a second bottle of the latter was very soon required, and produced with great alacrity. The reverend gentleman expressed much anxiety in relation to the mysterious circumstance of the disappearance of Anthelia, on whom he pronounced a very warm eulogium, saying she was the flower of the mountains, the type of ideal beauty, the daughter of music, the rosebud of sweetness, and the handmaid of charity. He professed himself unable to throw the least light on the transaction, but supposed she had been spirited away for some nefarious purpose. He said that the mountain road had been explored without success in all its ramifications, not only by Mr. Hippy and the visitors and domestics of Melincourt, but by all the peasants and mountaineers of the vicinity—that it led through a most desolate and inhospitable tract of country, and he would advise them, if they persisted in their intention of following it themselves, to partake of his poor hospitality till morning, and set forward with the first dawn of daylight. Mr. Fax seconded this proposal, and Mr. Forester complied.