Do you understand, Punshon?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"If you will pardon me," said Simon Orts, with a grin, "I have an
appointment to-night. You'd not have me break faith with a lady?"

"You are a lecherous rascal, Simon. But do as you are bid and I indulge
you. I am not afraid of your going to Harry Heleigh--after performing the
ceremony. Nay, my lad, for you are thereby _particeps criminis_. You will
pass Mr. Orts, Punshon, to the embraces of his whore. Nobody else."

Simon Orts waved his hand toward Lady Allonby. "'Twere only kindness to
warn Mr. Punshon there may be some disturbance shortly. A lamentation or
so."

At this Lord Rokesle clapped him upon the shoulder and heartily laughed.
"That's the old Simon--always on the alert. Punshon, no one is to enter
this wing of the castle, on any pretext--no one, you understand. Whatever
noises you may hear, you will pay no attention. Now go."

He went toward Lady Allonby and took her hand. "Come, Anastasia!" said he.
"Hold, she has really swooned! Why, what the devil, Simon--!"

Simon Orts had flung the gong into the fire. "She will be sounding that
when she comes to," said Simon Orts. "You don't want a rumpus fit to vex
the dead yonder in the Chapel." Simon Orts stood before the fire, turning
the leaves of his prayer-book. He seemed to have difficulty in finding
again the marriage service. You heard the outer door of the corridor
closing, heard chains dragged ponderously, the heavy falling of a bolt.