“He--he--showed very strong reasons why I should do so,” said Mr. Munn, who by this time was fearfully agitated--“very strong reasons, I do assure you, Sir, and all my humanity was--a--aroused.” “Your humanity?” sneered Wiggins. “Where was your humanity for her?” “For her!” exclaimed the vicar. “Why, she wanted it. She loved him.” “Loved him! Pooh! She hated him worse than the devil.” “Then what did she marry him for?” cried Mr. Munn, at his wits' end. “Never mind,” said Wiggins; “you went out of your way to do a deed the consequences of which can not yet be seen. I can understand, Sir, how Captain Dudleigh could have planned this thing; but how you, a calm, quiet clergyman, in the full possession of your faculties, could have ever been led to take part in it, is more than I can comprehend. I, Sir, was her guardian, appointed as such by her father, my own intimate friend. Captain Dudleigh was a villain. He sought out this thoughtless child merely for her money. It was not her that he wanted, but her estate. I could easily have saved her from this danger. He had no chance with me. But you come forward--you, Sir--suddenly, without cause, without a word of warning--you sneak here in the dark, you entice her to that lonely place, and there you bind her body and soul to a scoundrel. Now, Sir, what have you got to say for yourself!” Mr. Munn's teeth chattered, and his hands clutched one another convulsively. “Captain Dudleigh told me that she was under restraint here by--by you--and that she loved him, and that her only refuge was to be married to him. I'm sure I didn't mean to do any harm.” “Rubbish!” said Wiggins, contemptuously. “The law gives a guardian a certain right to parental restraint for the good of the ward. The slight restraint to which she was subjected was accompanied by the deepest love of those who cared for her here. I had hoped, Sir, that you might have something different to tell me. I did not know that you had actually acted so madly. I thought the story which I heard of that marriage was incredible, and I have always spoken of it as a mockery. But from what I now gather from you, it seems to have been a _bona fide_ marriage, true and valid.” “I--I'm afraid it--it was,” said Mr. Munn. Wiggins gave something that was almost like a groan. “Friends,” he cried, passionately, rising from his chair--“friends from the bottomless pit could not have more foully and fatally deceived that poor, thoughtless, trustful child. But all their trickery and treachery could never have succeeded had they not found a paltry tool in a senseless creature like you--you, Sir--who could stand there and go mumbling your marriage service, and never see the infernal jugglery that was going on under your very eyes. Yes, you, Sir, who now come to wring and break my heart by the awful tidings that you now tell me. Away! Begone! I have already borne more than my share of anguish; but this, if it goes on, will kill me or drive me mad!”