The little church, as Lady Millicent, with her two daughters, walked slowly up the aisle, was filled to overflowing with eager sight-seers. From the moment it became generally known that the great family from the Castle had graciously condescended to honour John Beacham’s marriage with their presence, public interest in that event had risen to its height. Already the wedding presents graciously sent to the oldest and most respected tenant on the Gillingham estates had been duly inspected and admired, and the miniature bust in bronze of “the late lamented Cecil Vavasour, Esq.,” a dozen or two of which had been cast by Lady Millicent’s orders for such occasions as the present, had been duly forwarded the day before as a mark of esteem to the owner of Updown Paddocks, had been passed round among the friends and acquaintances assembled at Clay’s Farm, and received its meed of approval. The simple people were a little puzzled by the ponderous ornament destined to grace the delicate throat of the bride. It was “milady’s” gift, and therefore safe from either animadversion or suspicion; but, under other circumstances, it is just possible that some few judicious critics--the ladies especially--might have been tempted to pronounce the “pebble” brooch, in its thin setting of pale chased gold, not only an ugly but a parsimonious gift. That _noblesse oblige_ formed no portion of Lady Millicent’s creed was a fact that in some way or other had come to be, perhaps, dimly suspected by the little world over whom she reigned. It would take a long time, however, and an enlarged experience of her ladyship’s meanness, selfishness, and general incapacity, before the _fact_ of those proclivities would become an accepted truth by those whose fathers had lived in the good old “God save great George our King!” days, and who had been brought up to believe in the Vavasours of Gillingham. The memory of the good Squire still lingered amongst them. There were stories yet extant of his kindliness, his forgetfulness of self, his open-handed charity, and his rare and simple common sense. What wonder, then, that with the savour of his good deeds yet lingering about the widow, there should still be found a few ready to respect where she respected, and willing to honour those whom “milady” delighted to honour? The church was then, as I have already said, crowded with people, when Lady Millicent sailed graciously down the aisle, clad in the rustling black-silk dress which the curtseying school-children had known so long, and which had brushed their humble skirts so often. The bride was momentarily expected, and when the excitement caused by Lady Millicent’s entry had subsided, and she was comfortably seated in the rectory pew, all heads were turned towards the door in momentary expectation of another and a still more important arrival.