Grace looked, and recognized him. "Yes," said she, "it is Mr. Beresford; he is a clergyman."

Whereupon there was a loud laugh.

Counsel. "What makes you think he is a clergyman?"

Witness. "I have seen him officiate. It was he who married me to Mr.--" Here she caught sight of Henry, and stopped, blushing.

"What is that?" said the Judge, keenly. "Did you say that man performed the marriage ceremony over you?"

"I should like to see the register of that parish."

"Let me save you the trouble," said the prisoner. "Your lordship's time has been wasted enough with falsehoods; I will not waste it further by denying the truth. The fact is, my lord, I was always a great churchgoer (a laugh), and I was disgusted with the way in which the clergy deliver the Liturgy, and with their hollow discourses, that don't go home to men's bosoms. Vanity whispered, 'You could do better.' I applied for the curacy of St. Peter's. I obtained it. I gave universal satisfaction; and no wonder; my heart was in the work; I trembled at the responsibility I had undertaken. Yes, my lord, I united that young lady in holy matrimony to one Frederick Coventry. I had no sooner done it, than I began to realize that a clergyman is something more than a reader and a preacher. Remorse seized me. My penitence, once awakened, was sincere. I retired from the sacred office I had usurped--with much levity, I own, but, as heaven is my witness, with no guilty intent."

The Judge, to Grace. "Did you ever see the prisoner on any other occasion?"