ts (you'll excuse me, I feel sure): but give him time, I say--
give him time, and he'll come round right and tight."

"My father is not with me. Oh, Mr. Romley, you have heard, surely? I
was told--but there, you have the licence."

"The licence! What licence?" He stared at her.

Her heart sank. Here was some horrible mistake. She bethought
herself of his careless habits, which indeed were notorious enough in
and about Wroote and Epworth. "It must be among your letters--have
you neglected them lately? Ah, think--think, my friend: for to me
this means all the world."

"Upon my word of honour, Miss Hetty, I don't understand one word
you're saying. Come, let us have it clear. What brings you to
Lincoln? The Rector is not with you. Who, then?"

"We came here last night--early this morning, rather--"

"'We'?"

"I have left home. You know what we intended? But my father locked
me up. I had tried to be open with him, and he would listen to
nothing. So--as everything was ready--and you here with the
licence--"

John Romley stepped back a pace. It is doubtful if he heard the last
words. His eyes were round in his head.

"You are here--with--_him_!" He gasped it in an incredulous whisper.
For a moment in her earnestness she met his stare. Then her hands
went up to her face. "You? You?" he repeated slowly. His eyes
shrank from her face and wandered helplessly over the smoke, over the
red roofs of the town below them.

"But we came to get married!" She plucked her hands away from her
face and stepped close to him, forcing his reluctant eyes to meet
hers. Her cheeks flamed: he groaned at the sight of her beauty.
"But we came to get married! John, there is nothing--surely
nothing?--that with your help cannot be set right? Ah, I forget--by
marrying us you will offend father, and you find now that you want
this favour of him. John, it cannot be _that_--you cannot be playing
so cruel a trick for _that_--and after your promise? Forgive me if I
am selfish: but think what I am fighting for!"

"It will cost me the precentorship," answered he slowly, "but I
hadn't given a thought to that."

"It shall cost you nothing of the kind. After all, father is juster
to others than to me. I will write--we will both write: I will tell
him what you risked to save his daughter. Or, stay: any clergyman
will do, will he not? We need only the licence. You shall risk
nothing: give me only the licence and I will