"Yes, we shan't need that light now, thank you," said Stanley, turning on the central lamp. "Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked the Colonel, gruffly. The diplomat was on his best behaviour. "I'm so sorry," he said. "Of course, we did not know you were a caller. The ladies have retired, and I'm sure you don't want to see us; we won't detain you." "I----" began Darcy, clenching his fist. "Oh, I'll make your excuses to Mrs. Roberts," pursued the Secretary. "Don't trouble about that." "I'll be damned if I'll tolerate this interference," burst out the Colonel. "I'm sure you'll be the first, and will also endure the second, my dear sir," continued Stanley in his most suave tones. "So we'll say no more about it. The _front_ door is easy to open, Colonel Darcy, as of course you know. Good-night." CHAPTER XXVII THE MARRIAGE REGISTER On the morning which succeeded Stanley's midnight vigil, the Reverend Reginald Lambert was early at the little chapel, which was his great pride in life. The good old gentleman was never so happy as when he could induce any of the visitors at the Hall to give him an hour of their time to listen to his dissertations on the ecclesiastical history of the building; to examine its fragments of "dog-tooth," and discuss the meaning of that one "foliated capital," in a structure otherwise severely Saxon. He was even writing a little book on all these things; a volume which he fondly hoped might some day be given to the world. This morning, however, he must have been engaged on some work of special interest, in which he was so absorbed that time flew by unnoticed till his task was finished. He was just preparing to return to his rectory, when he received an unexpected visit from a lady, who requested permission to examine the marriage register. The lady was a stranger to him, and was evidently of foreign extraction. She asked to see an old volume of the records, and took the occasion, when his back was turned, to hastily glance at the last matrimonial entry, for the marriage register lay open on the table, comparing the same with a line of handwriting which she had with her, and evincing surprise as well as satisfaction at the knowledge she derived therefrom. A moment later, when the old man returned, she was, to all appearances, absorbed in the contemplation of an extremely repellent gargoyle. The entry she desired was not to be found, was probably in some neighbouring parish, she suggested--a fact which the narrator thinks unlikely. She nevertheless passed a profitable hour, allowing the good parson to show her every nook and corner of his precious possession, and displaying an intelligent interest, which was as rare as it was gratifying.