When Mr. Munn came he found them in great distress. He soon learned the facts of the case, and at once decided that it should be made known to Captain Dudleigh or to Wiggins. For though he did not know Edith's face, still, from the disconnected words that had dropped from her during her delirium, reported to him by the inn people, he thought it probable that she was the very lady whom he had married under such mysterious circumstances. So he soothed the fears of the landlady as well as he could, and then left. It was late at night when he went from the inn, and he had waited till the morning before going to Dalton Hall. He had some difficulty in getting in at the gate, but when the porter learned the object of his visit he at once opened to him. From the porter he learned of the disappearance of Captain Dudleigh also. Nothing was then left but to see Wiggins. Accordingly he had come to the Hall at once, so as to tell his message with the shortest possible delay. To this recital Wiggins listened with gravity. He made no gesture, and he spoke no word, but sat with folded arms, looking upon the floor. When Mr. Munn had ended, he, after a long silence, turned toward him and said, in a severe tone, “Well, Sir, now I hope you see something of the evil of that course which you chose to pursue.” “Evil? course?” stammered Mr. Munn. “I don't understand you.” “Oh, I think you understand me,” said Wiggins, gloomily. “Has not your conscience already suggested to you the probable cause of this strange course of her whom you call Mrs. Dudleigh?” “My conscience!” gasped Mr. Munn; “what has my conscience to do with it?” “How long is it since that wretched mockery at which you officiated?” asked Wiggins, sternly. “I really--I think--a few months only.” “A few months,” repeated Wiggins. “Well, it has come to this. That is the immediate cause of her flight, and of her present suffering.” “I--I--married them,” stammered Mr. Munn; “but what of that? Is her unhappiness my fault? How can I help it? Am I responsible for the future condition of those couples whom I marry? Surely this is a strange thing to say.” “You well know,” said Wiggins, “what sort of a marriage this was. It was no common one. It was done in secret. Why did you steal into these grounds like a thief, and do this infamous thing?” “Why--why,” faltered the unhappy vicar, growing more terrified and conscience-stricken every minute--“Captain Dudleigh asked me. I cannot refuse to marry people.” “No, Sir, you can not when they come to you fairly; you can not, I well know, when the conditions of the law are satisfied. But was that so here? Did you not steal into these grounds? Did you not come by night, in secret, conscious that you were doing wrong, and did you not have to steal out in the same way? And your only excuse is that Captain Dudleigh asked you!”