Well, you have
obtained your ends. Your covetous wish that you and your daughter should
reign at Hartledon is on the point of being gratified. The honour of
marrying Lady Maude was intended both by you and her for the late Lord
Hartledon. Failing him, you transferred your hopes to the present one,
regardless of who suffered, or what hearts or honour might be broken in
the process."
"Will nobody put this disreputable parson outside?" raved the dowager.
"I do not seek to bring reproach home to you; let that, ladies, lie
between yourselves and conscience. I only draw your attention to the
facts; which have been sufficiently patent to the world, whatever Lord
Hartledon may think. And now I have said my say, and leave you; but I
declare that were I performing this burlesque of a marriage, as that
young clergyman is about to do, I should feel my prayers for the divine
blessing to attend it were but a vain mockery."
He turned to leave the chapel with quick steps, when Lord Hartledon,
shaking off Maude, darted forward and caught his arm.
"You will tell me one thing at least: Is Anne _not_ going to marry
Colonel Barnaby?"
"Sir!" thundered the doctor. "Going to marry _whom_?"
"I heard it," he faltered. "I believed it to be the truth."
"You may have heard it, but you did not believe it, Lord Hartledon. You
knew Anne better. Do not add this false excuse to the rest.
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