J. S. Fletcher

“ I have been vicar of Mingham Parva for forty-one years."
"There's proof of this?" asked Linthwaite.
"I made a copy of the entry from my marriage registers last night for Mrs. Byfield," answered Mr. Winslow. "And as I say, the woman is alive. She can be produced."
"Who is she? Who was she?" demanded Semmerby.
"A young woman of my parish who, very unfortunately for herself, had a little money," answered the vicar. "Cradock Melsome used to come down there fishing. He persuaded her to marry him. The money, I believe, was soon gone. Then he disappeared." ”

“ Byfield shook her head.
"It would mean that," she replied, "if I hadn't known something all these years, something that I never told to anybody but Martin Byfield. I've kept it quiet because I've a horror of raking things up, and I didn't want Fanshawe to know, and I hoped to end my days peaceably in Selchester without talk or gossip, which is impossible now, and because I'm easily got round, and lots of reasons.
"But it's got to come out. The truth is, I never was married to Cradock Melsome! Legally, anyway."
"Eh?" said Linthwaite. "You never were married to Cradock? ”

“ Winslow has told you of just now. I asked her what she was going to do, and she said that all she wanted was to go back to her village and be left alone. She went, and I went, too—to the other end of the world! ”