The rapidity of these revelations; the intense seriousness and most kindly expression upon Norcot's face; the bewildering rush and hurry of his own life during the past few days, all combined to move Cecil Stark. His wits swooned; his emotions yearned to believe this marvellous story. He pressed his hand to his forehead, then noticed the wine at his elbow, picked up the glass and drained it. "Man," he said solemnly, "surely it is not in humanity to juggle upon such a theme? You cannot be deceiving me?" "Emphatically no," answered Norcot. "I am no juggler, but a simple wool-merchant of some character and renown in these parts. In fact, a big toad in a small puddle, as the saying is. My heart went out to you when first we met, and I resolved, if opportunity offered, to do you a service. I failed; but it was your own action that defeated my good offices. This time I shall succeed, because nobody on this earth can break a marriage contract if the conditions are within the law of the land." "She is willing?" "For a thousand reasons; and, first, before any thought of you, that her parents may suffer no more. They have undoubtedly endured a good deal." "'Tis an insult to the family to wed so." "She is not of that opinion. The ceremony once complete, you can go back to prison with a cheerful heart; or, better still, obtain a passport. I shall ride off instantly to Grace's parents and explain all. Upon her recovery, and before you depart to your own land the richer by this lovely rose, a marriage ceremony as splendid as Malherb's purse can bear may take place. Would that he would forget to play Lucifer for once and let me bear the cost." "Such things as this don't happen," said Stark slowly. "They don't," answered the other. "Such things can only be found within the pages of poetry. And yet you see how one romantic ass, out of the dead love of his past, has planned this little fairy tale. I am that ass, Mr. Stark. Such things don't happen; yet this thing is going to happen if you are of the same mind as Grace Malherb. She has forgiven me everything--even robbing her of daylight. 'What is the sun compared with him?' cried she. My God, how she loves you!" Yet something in Cecil Stark's heart still doubted and cried for proof positive. Norcot's perfect voice, flowing on like an oily river, hurt his nerves. He felt that he was being muffled up and choked in honey. He dashed his hand on the table. "Proofs--facts--realities--give me these!" he cried. "Show me how this can be, and I will bless your name for ever." "I was waiting for you to come to your senses. This astounding news has acted like strong drink on a hungry man. Proofs are here--facts--realities too. Read this. You never heard of Charles Manners Sutton? Yet, 'tis a very well-known name among respectable people. This word he wrote. 'Tis the sign-manual of His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury, Mr. Stark." "Go on--explain."