“Your lordship does well. And Lady Montressor shall receive the best possible care and attention while she sojourns under our humble roof,” replied the aged clergyman. And, bowing to the group, he led his charge from the library, through the long passage, down the broad stairs, across the wide hall to the entrance door, and thence down the steps to the carriage in which he placed her. Meanwhile, Madame L’ Orient, Victoire, and the little fat Abbe, chattering like a trio of mammoth magpies, had got into their chaise and driven off. Lord Montressor, Lord Dazzleright and the Bishop of Exeter, now came down the steps, entered the carriage of the viscount, and took the road to Hyde. Mr. Trevor came out, and joined Mr. Oldfield and Lady Montressor, and their carriage was ordered to drive to Bloomfield. CHAPTER III. THE WORLD. “’Tis an atrocious world!”—_Bulwer._ The news of the arrest of a bride at the altar, upon one of the gravest charges, and that bride, the beautiful and gifted Estelle Morelle, the star of fashion, the patroness of art and literature, the only daughter and heiress of the oldest and wealthiest baronet in the West of England, and the wife of one of the most distinguished among the young rising members of the house of Peers—fell like a thunderbolt upon the world, and spread like a conflagration through society. The story was everywhere received with incredulous amazement. The very enormity of the offense charged upon one so high and pure, stupefied belief. Even the reporters and “item” hunters of the press, feared, for a time, to deal directly with the question; and compromised the matter by obscure hints, and initials, instead of proper names. The most daring “sensationists” among the country editors were held in check, not only by the judicious limitation of the _license_ of the press which exists in England, but also by deep respect for, and perhaps awe of the principal parties concerned. For the characters and influence of Sir Park Morelle and of the Viscount Montressor were not only paramount in their respective counties of Devon and Dorset, but superior throughout the West of England. The affair was canvassed with never flagging interest by people of every rank in society. Upon the evening of the arrest, the large kitchen of the “Morelle Arms,” the Inn at Hyde, where small farmers, artizans and laborers most did “congregate,” was the scene of a considerable excitement upon the subject. Along on benches placed each side a strong oaken table, sat perhaps a dozen rough-looking countrymen, clad in frieze coats or in smock frocks, and having clay pipes between their lips, and pewter pots of foaming “arf-’n-arf” before them. In an arm-chair at the head of the table, sat John Oates the baker, like a self-installed moderator of the feast, while at the foot, on an oaken stool, was perched Peter Barktree, under-gamekeeper from Horsford.