“I was married by a registrar,” said Conolly; “and as there is no such thing as civil marriage known to the Church, our union, from the ecclesiastical point of view, has no existence.  We were not joined by God, in fact, in your sense.  To deny her the opportunity of remarrying would be to compel her to live as an adulteress in the eye of the law, which, by the bye, would make me the father of Douglas’s children.  I cannot, merely because your people are afraid of scandal, take such a revenge on Marian as to refuse her the freedom she has sacrificed so much for.  After all, since our marriage has proved a childless one, the only reason for our submitting to be handcuffed to one another, now that our hearts are no longer in the arrangement, is gone.”

“The game began at Sark,” said Marmaduke.  “Douglas stuck to her there like a leech.  He’s been about the house here a good deal since she came back.  I often wondered you didnt kick him out.  But, of course, it was not my business to say anything.  Was she huffed into going?  You hadnt any row with her just before, had you?

“We never had rows.”

“That was your mistake, Conolly.  You should have heard poor Susanna and me fighting.  We always ended by swearing we would never speak to one another again.  Nothing duller than a smooth life.  If you had given Marian something to complain of, she would have been too much taken up with it to bother about Douglas.”

“But have you ascertained whither they have gone?” said the clergyman, distractedly.  “Will you not follow them?”

“I know nothing of their movements.  Probably they are crossing to New York.”

“But surely you ought to follow her,” said the Rev. George.  “You may yet be in time to save her from worse than death.”

“Yah!” said Marmaduke.  “Drop all that rot, George.  Worse than death be hanged!  Serves the family right!  They are a jolly sight too virtuous:  it will do them good to get shewn up a bit.”

“If you have no respect for the convictions of a priest,” exclaimed the Rev. George, shedding tears, “you might at least be silent in the presence of a heartbroken brother and husband.”

“Oh, I dont want to shew any want of consideration for you or Conolly,” said Marmaduke, sulkily.  “No doubt it’s rough on you.  But as to the feelings of the family, I tell you flatly that I dont care if the whole crew were brought to the Old Bailey to-morrow and convicted of bigamy.  It would take the conceit out of them.”

“I know not how to break this wretched news to my father,” said the Rev. George, turning disconsolately from his sottish cousin to Conolly.

“It is no such uncommon occurrence.  The less fuss made about it the better.  She is not to blame, and I shall not be heard crying out misery and disgrace.  Your family can very well follow my example.  I have nothing to say against her, and I believe she has nothing to say against me.  Nothing can prevent such publicity as a petition for divorce must entail.  Your father will survive it, never fear.”