“if any man can show any just cause,” it came into his head what a mockery it was. He made almost a dead stop, and looked round in a sort of anguish--“any man!”--why, there was not a creature--there was nobody but Simms, waiting behind obsequious, thoughtful of the half-crowns, and Mrs Simms staring, and the two poor women who had been churched. Who of all these was likely to make any objection? And everything perfectly quiet; not a sound outside except the ordinary din. Then he put on his most solemn aspect and looked fully, severely, in the face of the bridal pair. “I require--and charge you both--as ye will answer--at the dreadful day of judgment.” Tremendous words; and he gave them forth one by one, pausing at every breathing-place. Surely there never was such an officiating clergyman. Lord Germaine kept that eyeglass full upon him, gravely studying the unknown phenomena of a new species. Lady Germaine, entirely overmastered by the _fou rire_ which had seized her during the churching, and fully believing that it was all eccentricity of the most novel kind, crushed her handkerchief into her mouth, and stood behind Winton that her half-hysterical seizure of mirth might not be perceived. And now even that adjuration was over. Slow as you can say the words, there are still but a few of them to say. The Rector was in despair. A little more, and they would be bound beyond any man’s power to unloose them. He had to begin, “Wilt thou have this woman----” At this point he stopped short altogether; his eager ears became conscious of something strange among the outside noises with which he was so familiar. He made a sign to Simms, an angry, anxious gesture, pointing to the door. Lady Germaine was almost beside herself; the little handkerchief now was not enough; a moment more, she felt, and her laugh must peal through the church.