"He did, and told me Walter would be put into prison if I did, and would die in prison, for a gentleman can not live there nowadays. Oh, sir, don't let anybody know but you and me and my father. He won't hurt him for my sake; he has wronged me cruelly, but I'll be torn to pieces before I'll own my marriage, and throw him into a dungeon."

"Come to my arms, you pearl of goodness and n.o.bility and unselfish love!"

cried Colonel Clifford. "How can I ever part with you now I know you?

There, don't let us despair, let's fight to the last. I have one question to submit to you. Of course you examined the certificate very carefully?"

"I saw enough to break my heart. I saw that on a certain day, many years ago, one Lucy Muller had married Walter Clifford."

"And who witnessed the marriage?" asked the Colonel, eyeing her keenly.

"Oh, I don't know that," said Grace. "When I came to Walter Clifford, everything swam before my eyes; it was all I could do to keep from fainting away. I tottered into my father's study, and, as soon as I came to myself, what had I to do? Why, to creep out again with my broken heart, and face such insults--All! it is a wonder I did not fall dead at their feet."

"My poor girl!" said Colonel Clifford. Then he reflected a moment. "Have you the courage to read that doc.u.ment again, and to observe in particular who witnessed it?"

"I have," said she.

He handed it to her. She took it and held it in both hands, though they trembled.

"Who is the witness?"

"The witness," said Grace, "is William Hope."

"Is that your father?"

"It's my father's name," said Grace, beginning to turn her eyes inward and think very hard.

"But is it your father, do you think?"

"No, sir, it is not."

"Was he in that part of the world at the time? Did he know Bartley? the clergyman who brought me this certificate--"

"The clergyman!"

"Yes, my dear, it was a clergyman, apparently a rector, and he told me--"

"Are you sure he was a clergyman?"

"Quite sure; he had a white tie, a broad-brimmed hat, a clergyman all over; don't go off on that. Did your father and my son know each other in Hull?"

"That they did. You are right," said Grace, "this witness was my father; see that, now. But if so--Don't speak to me; don't touch me; let me think--there is something hidden here;" and Mrs. Walter Clifford showed her father-in-law that which we have seen in her more than once, but it was quite new and surprising to Colonel Clifford. There she stood, her arms folded, her eyes turned inward, her every feature, and even her body, seemed to think. The result came out like lightning from a cloud.

"It's all a falsehood," said she.

"A falsehood!" said Colonel Clifford.

"Yes, a falsehood upon the face of it. My father witnessed this marriage, and therefore if the bridegroom had been our Walter he would never have allowed our Walter to court me, for he knew of our courtship all along, and never once disapproved of it."

"Then do you think it is a mistake?" said the Colonel, eagerly.

"No, I do not," said Grace. "I think it is an imposture. This man was not a clergyman when he brought me the certificate; he was a man of business, a plain tradesman, a man of the world; he had a colored necktie, and some rather tawdry chains."

"Did he speak in a kind of sing-song?"

"Not at all; his voice was clear and cutting, only he softened it down once or twice out of what I took for good feeling at the time. He's an impostor and a villain. Dear sir, don't agitate poor Walter or my dear father with this vile thing (she handed him back the certificate). It has been a knife to both our hearts; we have suffered together, you and I, and let us get to the bottom of it together."

"We shall soon do that," said the Colonel, "for he is coming here to-morrow again."

"All the better."

"With the lady."

"What lady?"

"The lady that calls herself Mrs. Walter Clifford."

"Indeed!" said Grace, quite taken aback. "They must be very bold."

"Oh, for that matter," said the Colonel, "I insisted upon it; the man seemed to know nothing but from mere hearsay. He knew nothing about William Hope, the witness, so I told him he must bring the woman; and, to be just to the man, he seemed to think so too, and that she ought to do her own business."

"She will not come," said Grace, rather contemptuously. "He was obliged to say she would, just to put a face upon it. To-morrow he'll bring an excuse instead of her. Then have your detectives about, for he is a villain; and, dear sir, please receive him in the drawing-room; then I will find some way to get a sight of him myself."

"It shall be done," said the Colonel. "I begin to think with you. At all events, if the lady does not come, I shall hope it is all an imposture or a mistake."

With this understanding they parted, and waited in anxiety for the morrow, but now their anxiety was checkered with hope.

To-morrow bade fair to be a busy day. Colonel Clifford, little dreaming the condition to which his son and his guest would be reduced, had invited Jem Davies and the rescuing parties to feast in tents on his own lawn and drink his home-brewed beer, and they were to bring with them such of the rescued miners as might be in a condition to feast and drink copiously. When he found that neither Hope nor his son could join these festivities, he was very sorry he had named so early a day; but he was so punctilious and precise that he could not make up his mind to change one day for another. So a great confectioner at Derby who sent out feasts was charged with the affair, and the Colonel's own kitchen was at his service too. That was not all. Bartley was coming to do business. This had been preceded by a letter which Colonel Clifford, it may be remembered, had offered to show Grace Clifford. The letter was thus worded:

"COLONEL CLIFFORD,--A penitent man begs humbly to approach you, and offer what compensation is in his power. I desire to pay immediately to Walter Clifford the sum of 20,000 I have so long robbed him of, with five per cent, interest for the use of it. It has brought me far more than that in money, but money I now find is not happiness.

"The mine in which my friend has so nearly been destroyed--and his daughter, who now, too late, I find is the only creature in the world I love--that mine is now odious to me. I desire by deed to hand it over to Hope and yourself, upon condition that you follow the seams wherever they go, and that you give me such a share of the profits during my lifetime as you think I deserve for my enterprise. This for my life only, since I shall leave all I have in the world to that dear child, who will now be your daughter, and perhaps never deign again to look upon the erring man who writes these lines.

"I should like, if you please, to retain the farm, or at all events a hundred acres round about the house to turn into orchards and gardens, so that I may have some employment, far from trade and its temptations, for the remainder of my days."

In consequence of this letter a deed was drawn and engrossed, and Bartley had written to say he would come to Clifford Hall and sign it, and have it witnessed and delivered.

About nine o'clock in the evening one of the detectives called on Colonel Clifford to make a private communication; his mate had spotted a swell mobsman, rather a famous character, with the usual number of aliases, but known to the force as Mark Waddy; he was at the Dun Cow; and possessing the gift of the gab in a superlative degree, had made himself extremely popular. They had both watched him pretty closely, but he seemed not to be there for a job, but only on the talking lay, probably soliciting information for some gang of thieves or other. He had been seen to exchange a hasty word with a clergyman; but as Mark Waddy's acquaintances were not amongst the clergy, that would certainly be some pal that was in something or other with him.

"What a shrewd girl that must be!" said the Colonel.

"I beg your pardon, Colonel," said the man, not seeing the relevancy of this observation.

"Oh, nothing," said the Colonel, "only _I_ expect a visit to-morrow at twelve o'clock from a doubtful clergyman; just hang about the lawn on the chance of my giving you a signal."

Thus while Monckton was mounting his batteries, his victims were preparing defenses in a sort of general way, though they did not see their way so clear as the enemy did.