The two stood eyeing the culprit who, crouching where he fell, gazed up at them dumbly, pitifully, as a dog between two thrashings.
"Now, sir," the Rector continued.

"You married this couple, it seems.

At whose request ?" "At their own," came the answer in a whisper.
"Ay," said Mr.Rogers, "at their own request.

You--not being a priest at all, or in orders, but a swindler with a forged licence-- married that lady at her own request." "Is that true ?" the Rector demanded.
The poor wretch made as if to crawl towards him, to clasp his knees again.

"Mercy!" he whined, between two sobs.
"One moment," Mr.Rogers insisted, as the Rector held up a hand.
"Did young Plinlimmon know of the fraud ?" "No." "Does he know now ?" "No." "Thank the Lord for that small mercy! For, by the Lord, I'd have shot him without grace to say his prayers." "Mr.Rogers!" Again the Rector lifted a reproving hand.
"You don't understand, sir.