"Married?" he repeated. "Married," said Doctor Shovel. "I fear that your state of mind, during the performance of the ceremony, was not such as a clergyman could altogether wish to see. Still who am I, to decide when a gentleman is too drunk to marry?" "Married! Oh, this is some dreadful dream! Where is my bride? Show me my wife!" "She is gone, Lord Chudleigh." "Gone! Where is she gone?" The Doctor shook his head for an answer. "Who is she? What is her name? How came she here?" "I am sorry that I cannot answer your lordship in these particulars. She came--she was married--she went away! In her own good time she will doubtless appear again." "But who is she?" he repeated. "What is she like? Why did she marry me?" "Why did your lordship marry her? That, methinks, would be the proper question." "Show me your Register, man!" Lord Chudleigh was sober enough now, and brought his fist down upon the table in peremptory fashion. "Show me your Register and your certificate!" "Ta! ta! ta!" cried the Doctor. "Softly, young man, softly! We are not used to threats in this chapel-of-ease, where I am archbishop, bishop, and chaplain, all in one. For the Register, it is securely locked up; for the certificate, it is perhaps in the hands of Lady Chudleigh." "Lady Chudleigh!" "Perhaps her ladyship hath consigned it to my keeping. In either case, you shall not see it." "This is a conspiracy," cried Lord Chudleigh. "I have been deceived by rogues and knaves! This is no true marriage." "You would say that I am lying. Say so, but, at your peril, _think_ so. You are as truly married as if you had been united in your own parish church, by your own bishop. Believe that, for your own safety, if you believe nothing else. At the right time, her ladyship will be revealed to you. And remember, my lord"--here the Doctor, towering over him, shook his great forefinger in warning or menace--"should you attempt another marriage in the lifetime of your present wife, you shall be brought to your trial for bigamy as sure as my name is Gregory Shovel. Laws, in this country, are not altogether made for the punishment of the poor, and even a peer may not marry more than one woman." "I will have this wickedness exposed," cried his lordship hotly. "Alas! my lord," said the Doctor, "the name of Gregory Shovel is already well known. I am but what your father caused me to be." "My father! Then there is revenge.... The benefits which my father conferred upon you----" "They were greater than any I can confer upon you. He kept me with him as his private jester. I found him wit: he fed me upon promises. He turned me forth, to be flung into a debtor's prison. That, however, was nothing. Your lordship will own"--here the Doctor laughed, but without merriment--"that I have returned good for evil; for, whereas your father robbed me of a wife, I have presented you with one."