“My poor girl!” said Colonel Clifford.  Then he reflected a moment.  “Have you the courage to read that document 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.”