had presented himself at the Hall that night (by arrangement), asking
for Mr. Dancox, thus affording an excuse for his quitting the
banquet-room, was a young clergyman of Worcester, come over especially
to marry them. When tackled with his deed afterwards, he protested that
he had not been told the marriage was to be clandestine. Tom Dancox went
out to him from the banquet; Katherine, slipping on a bonnet and shawl,
joined them outside; they hastened to the rectory and thence into the
church. And while the unconscious master of Leet Hall was entertaining
his guests with his good cheer and his stories and his hip, hip,
hurrah, his Vicar and Katherine Monk were made one until death should
them part. And death, as it proved, intended to do that speedily.

At first Captain Monk, in his unbounded rage, was for saying that a
marriage celebrated at ten o'clock at night by the light of a solitary
tallow candle, borrowed from the vestry, could not hold good. Re-assured
upon this point, he strove to devise other means to part them. Foiled
again, he laid the case before the Bishop of Worcester, and begged his
lordship to unfrock Thomas Dancox. The Bishop did not do as much as
that; though he sent for Tom Dancox and severely reprimanded him. But
that, as Church Leet remarked, did not break bones. Tom had striven to
make the best of his own cause to the Bishop, and the worst of Captain
Monk's obdurate will; moreover, stolen marriages were not thought much
of in those days.

An uncomfortable state of things was maintained all the year, Hall Leet
and the Parsonage standing at daggers drawn. Never once did Captain Monk
appear at church. If he by cross-luck met his daughter or her husband
abroad, he struck into a good fit of swearing aloud; which perhaps
relieved his mind. The chimes had never played again; they pertained to
the church, and the church was in ill-favour with the Captain. As the