Finding herself in the presence of a vigorous will, Mrs. Chambers, who was weak-minded and indolent, eventually succumbed, and very reluctantly settled to her task. The last marriage certificate was used as a copy, and splendidly imitated by Mrs. Chambers; the name of Reginald Fairfax was substituted for the man, and Fanny Cole for the spinster. The witnesses’ and the clergyman’s signatures were added. The only name that was really forged was the clergyman’s: “A correct copy of certificate of marriage as signed and attested by me.--HUGH PARRY.” This was a facsimile; the remaining part of the certificate was in a round clerkly hand, as if copied by that functionary. It was finished, and, villanous document as it was, was in every respect to all appearance an authorised and legal copy of a certificate of marriage. Miss Mason having quieted her friend’s scruples by assuring her over and over again that it was “only a joke,” and having refreshed her with five-o’clock tea and half a brandy-and-soda, and sworn her to profoundest secrecy, dismissed her tool with much affectionate demonstration. She then locked up the book and papers and went for a drive, with the calm conviction that she had done a good afternoon’s work. The following day an anonymous letter containing the mock certificate was despatched to Lady Fairfax. I should here mention that when the old clerk called for the register and his ten rupees, and got them, he hastened to the Bazaar and laid in a fine supply of arrack, which he conveyed to his solitary “go down.” His orgie was on such an extensive scale that when he upset a lighted kerosine lamp he was perfectly incapable of stirring or extinguishing it, so he and his house and the marriage register were all consumed together. This occurrence was related to Miss Mason a few evenings afterwards at the band, as one of the items of local “gup;” also that the church register was missing--had recently and mysteriously disappeared; and that the general belief was that the defunct clerk had made away with it. Miss Mason received the intelligence as a polite but totally disinterested listener; but as she rolled along the dusty roads in her carriage, on her way home, she thought all the time of her little joke and its probable consequences. “‘Sweet is revenge, especially to women.’ I forget who wrote that; but it’s true,” she murmured. “Mine is even more complete than I had expected. Mr. Parry is dead; the clerk and the register burnt; the witnesses, John and Jane Fox, gone to Australia nearly two years ago. Clear yourself if you can, Sir Reginald Fairfax; I’ll not help you; and I think you will find that I have given you a difficult task.”