'You might preach a sermon from what I am suffering now, Vicar. Oh, I deserve it. My pride has been taken down at last. But the punishment is hard----' 'Pardon me, friend King; but you exaggerate surely. Surely a certain measure of family pride is justifiable; it ought to nerve a man to be worthy of those who have gone before him. Nor have I ever thought that your feeling about your name being a heritage that you had to guard jealously and piously was otherwise than just----' 'Five centuries, Vicar--for five centuries the Kings of Kingscourt, whether knights or commoners, have been gentlemen--gentlemen every man of them; and this is the end!' 'But even now, old friend, you must not look at the blackest side of things. Alfred may requite you yet by his conduct for the tremendous sacrifice you and Mrs. King are making. He has committed a social crime; but surely that is better than living in sin----.' 'Vicar, I know you have tried to look only at the cheerful side of things, as far as your cloth will permit, and I trust in God that something may yet come of it; but if not--if this last appeal to him produces nothing more than the others--then there is a final alternative that may help me to save Kingscourt and the family name.' 'What is that?' his friend said, eagerly. 'I will not speak of it now; we must hope for the best.' At this moment there was heard the rumbling of carriage wheels outside, and the old man started. 'Come, let us go into the hall,' he said quickly; and then he added, in a lower and agitated voice, 'Vicar, do you think my poor wife will--will have to kiss this woman? That is what she dreads. That is what terrifies her.' The pale-faced clergyman seemed embarrassed, and said hastily, 'There will be some confusion, no doubt. Come, friend King, pull yourself together. You are welcoming home your son and his newly-married wife, remember.' The great bell rang, the servants swarmed into the hall, the door was opened, and outside, in the darkness, the carriage lamps were visible, shining down on the broad steps. At the same moment a lady came along from the corridor; a tall, elderly woman, with a pale, sweet face, quite white hair done up in old-fashioned little curls, and with eyes of a sad, benign expression. She seemed to be very pleased and cheerful; it was only the Vicar, who shook hands with her, who knew that her whole frame was trembling. 'So you have come to welcome home the bride, Mr. Lynnton,' she said, in a clear voice, so that every one could hear. 'Alfred will be pleased to see you again, after his long absence. They say that being so much abroad has greatly improved him.' 'It could not well improve his appearance, Mrs. King; he was always a handsome lad,' said the Vicar--his eyes still turned towards the door.