"You might make the application," replied
the captain. "But remember one thing—you
would come into Court, with the acknowledgment
of your own deception. I leave you to
imagine what the Judges would think of that."

"Did the lawyer tell you anything else?"

"One thing besides," said Captain Wragge.
"Whatever the law might do with the marriage
in the lifetime of both the parties to it—on the
death of either one of them, no application made
by the survivor would avail; and, as to the case
of that survivor, the marriage would remain
valid. You understand? If he dies, or if you
die—and if no application has been made to the
Court—he the survivor, or you the survivor,
would have no power of disputing the marriage.
But, in the lifetime of both of you, if he claimed
to have the marriage dissolved, the chances are
all in favour of his carrying his point."

He looked at Magdalen with a furtive curiosity
as he said those words. She turned her head
aside, absently tying her watch-chain into a loop
and untying it again; evidently thinking with
the closest attention over what he had last said
to her. Captain Wragge walked uneasily to the
window, and looked out. The first object that
caught his eye was Mr. Noel Vanstone approaching
from Sea View. He returned instantly to
his former place in the room, and addressed
himself to Magdalen once more.

"Here is Mr. Noel Vanstone," he said. "One
last caution before he comes in. Be on your
guard with him about your age. He put the
question to me before he got the License. I
took the shortest way out of the difficulty, and
told him you were Twenty-one—and he made the
declaration accordingly. Never mind about me:
after tomorrow, I am invisible. But, in your
own interests, don't forget, if the subject ever
turns up, that you are of age. There is nothing
more. You are provided with every necessary
warning that I can give you. Whatever happens
in the future—remember I have done my best."

He hurried to the door, without waiting for
an answer, and went out into the garden to receive
his guest.

Mr. Noel Vanstone made his appearance at
the gate, solemnly carrying his bridal offering to
North Shingles with both hands. The object in
question was an ancient casket (one of his father's
bargains); inside the casket reposed an old-
fashioned carbuncle brooch, set in silver (another
of his father's bargains)—bridal presents both,
possessing the inestimable merit of leaving his
money undisturbed in his pocket. He shook his
head portentously when the captain inquired
after his health and spirits. He had passed a
wakeful night; ungovernable apprehensions of
Lecount's sudden reappearance had beset him, as
soon as he found himself alone at Sea View. Sea
View was redolent of Lecount: Sea View (though
built on piles, and the strongest house in England)
was henceforth odious to him. He had
felt this all night; he had also felt his responsibilities.
There was the lady's-maid, to begin
with. Now he had hired her, he began to think
she wouldn't do. She might fall sick on his
hands; she might have deceived him by a false
character; she and the landlady of the hotel
might have been in league together. Horrible!
Really horrible to think of! Then there was
the other responsibility—perhaps the heaviest of
the two—the responsibility of deciding where he
was to go and spend his honeymoon to-morrow.
He would have preferred one of his father's
empty houses. But, except at Vauxhall Walk
(which he supposed would be objected to), and
at Aldborough (which was of course out of the
question), all the houses were let. He would
put himself in Mr. Bygrave's hands. Where had
Mr. Bygrave spent his own honeymoon? Given
the British Islands to choose from, where would
Mr. Bygrave pitch his tent, on a careful review
of all the circumstances?

At this point the bridegroom's questions
suddenly came to an end, and the bridegroom's face
exhibited an expression of ungovernable astonishment.
His judicious friend, whose advice had
been at his disposal in every other emergency,
suddenly turned round on him, in the emergency
of the honeymoon, and flatly declined discussing
the subject.

"No!" said the captain, as Mr. Noel Vanstone
opened his lips to plead for a hearing,
"you must really excuse me. My point of view,
in this matter, is, as usual, a peculiar one. For
some time past, I have been living in an atmosphere
of deception, to suit your convenience.
That atmosphere, my good sir, is getting close—
my Moral Being requires ventilation. Settle the
choice of a locality with my niece; and leave me,
at my particular request, in total ignorance on
the subject. Mrs. Lecount is certain to come
here on her return from Zurich, and is certain to
ask me where you are gone. You may think it
strange, Mr. Vanstone—but when I say I don't
know, I wish to enjoy the unaccustomed luxury
of feeling, for once in a way, that I am telling
the truth!"

With those words, he opened the sitting-room
door; introduced Mr. Noel Vanstone to Magdalen's
presence; bowed himself out of the room
again; and set forth alone to while away the
rest of the afternoon by taking a walk. His face
showed plain tokens of anxiety, and his parti-
coloured eyes looked hither and thither distrustfully,
as he sauntered along the shore. "The time
hangs heavy on our hands," thought the captain.
"I wish tomorrow was come and gone."

The day passed and nothing happened; the
evening and the night followed, placidly and
uneventfully. Monday came, a cloudless lovely
day—Monday confirmed the captain's assertion
that the marriage was a certainty. Towards ten
o'clock, the clerk ascending the church steps,
quoted the old proverb to the pew-opener, meeting
him under the porch: "Happy the bride on
whom the sun shines!"

In a quarter of an hour more, the wedding party