e marriages above. The marriage immediately before it was
impressed on my attention by the circumstance of the bridegroom's
Christian name being the same as my own. The entry immediately
following it (on the top of the next page) was noticeable in another
way from the large space it occupied, the record in this case
registering the marriages of two brothers at the same time. The
register of the marriage of Sir Felix Glyde was in no respect
remarkable except for the narrowness of the space into which it was
compressed at the bottom of the page. The information about his wife
was the usual information given in such cases. She was described as
"Cecilia Jane Elster, of Park-View Cottages, Knowlesbury, only daughter
of the late Patrick Elster, Esq., formerly of Bath."

I noted down these particulars in my pocket-book, feeling as I did so
both doubtful and disheartened about my next proceedings. The Secret
which I had believed until this moment to be within my grasp seemed now
farther from my reach than ever.

What suggestions of any mystery unexplained had arisen out of my visit
to the vestry? I saw no suggestions anywhere. What progress had I made
towards discovering the suspected stain on the reputation of Sir
Percival's mother? The one fact I had ascertained vindicated her
reputation. Fresh doubts, fresh difficulties, fresh delays began to
open before me in interminable prospect. What was I to do next? The
one immediate resource left to me appeared to be this. I might
institute inquiries about "Miss Elster of Knowlesbury," on the chance
of advancing towards the main object of my investigation, by first
discovering the secret of Mrs. Catherick's contempt for Sir Percival's
mother.

"Have you found what you wanted, sir?" said the clerk, as I closed the
register-book.

"Yes," I replied, "but I have some inquiries still to make. I suppose
the clergyman who officiated here in the year eighteen hundred and
three is no longer alive?"

"No, no, sir, he was dead three or four years before I came here, and
that was as long ago as the year twenty-seven. I got this place, sir,"
persisted my talkative old friend, "through the clerk before me leaving
it. They say he was driven out of house and home by his wife--and
she's living still down in the new town there. I don't know the rights
of the story myself--all I know is I got the place. Mr. Wansborough
got it for me--the son of my old master that I was tell you of.