CHAPTER XI. THE WEDDING NIGHT.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 419, 13 November 1889, Page 5

CHAPTER XI. THE WEDDING NIGHT.

ITH a fierce, low cry of intense delight, Peter Danger fi e 1 d grasped her by the wrist, hi 8 - thin face close to hers, and flushed with eager joy. ' You will tell me '' he almost gasped — ' you mean it this night ! — you will tell me to-night !' 'To-night/ Let go my wrist, Mr Dangortield ; you hurt me. Be civil enough to hand me a chair ; now a glass of wine or brandy, if you ha\e it. Ah ! this is the true elixir of life !' She sat down before the lite, put up her little Paris gaiters on t\ 1Q fender, lay back luxuriously, and took the glass of French brandy he offered her. 1 You are sure theio are no eavesdroppeis in your establishment, mon ami ? I don't cai-c about being overheard.' ' There are none.' She drew forth from her pur&e a f>iip of written paper — Peter Dangerfield's promise to pay her ten thousand pounds when Scars-wood became his. I You recognise this-, JSIr Dantrerh'eld, ami are still willing to abide by it ?' ' Perfectly willing. For Hea\ en's sake, don't keep me in this> fever of suspense and curiosity — speak out i' She replaced the slip ofc paper, finished the brandy, and pioduced a scented cigaiette. I 1 always smoke when I talk, if possible, and the sion- I have to tell i« a soinew hat lengthy one. Wcn't you load and light up also "' — I see your little black pipe there on the chimmey niece. No? You're too anxious, I perceh c, and nobody can enj'o3' a pipe or manilla, and listen thoroughly at tho same time. Well, before I begin, I must extort another promise. No matter what I tell you, you are not to sneak of it until I give you leave. Don't look alarmed — your prohibioion w ill not last lon'j; — only until Katheiine Daugertield's wedding-day. Is it a promise V llt is. Go on — go on !' 4 Draw closer, then,' He obej'ed, ancVHtttle Mrs Yawiso' 1 , leaning back in the easy chair, shoes to the lire, cigarette in mouth, began, fluently and at once, the story she had to tell. The Christmas festivities at Seaiswood were very gay indeed, and Air Peter Dangerlield misled a very pleasant c\ ening by staying away. Perhaps, though, on the whole he enjoyed himself quite as much in 1 his bachelor lodgings at C'a^tleford, tfft-a-teta with Mrs Vavasor. The long drawingrooms were abla/e with light, and festooned with ivy and mistletoe, and gleaming with scarlet holiyberries. A very large company wetc assembled -it was an understood thing that Miss Dangerfield appeared in public no more until -he appeared a3 a bride. She was looking very well to-night— her large eyes full of lustrous light, her animated face dimpling ever into radiant smiies. Her silken robe of white, shot with palest rose, blushed as she walked : large (Mental pearls clasped back the iloating brown hair, and shone in cloudy splendour on her slim throat. Not handsome — never that — but bright with health, youth, and perfect happiness Since the day of Mrs Vavasor's departure, the days and weeks lay behind her in a golden mist. Time never Hew as fa.st before. ' How noisele&a fall the feel of time That only tread on flower:-!' The only thorn in her rose-croun had been removed— papa looked contented, or if not contented, resigned — Gaston was all in the way ot a devoted Romeo tho most exacting Juliet could wish. Then there had been tho tioui>seau to order— a tiip to London to make, endless new chesses, and bonnet*, and present*, and altogether Christmas Eve jiad come with magical quickness. On New Year's Eve — just one week from to-night— she would !••_• (la-ton's wife, and the happiest bride Uie wide earth held. They were to be married at eleven in the forenoon in Caslleford Church. Edith Talbot to be first bridesmaid, and her brother chief groomsman, and after the wedding breakfast, the 'happy pair' were to start on their honeymoon journey — a long, delightful continental trip, which was to extend far into the fcprine. Then would come the return, the bonfires, the bell-ringing, the feasting of tenantry, aud she and Gaston would settle down seigneur and chAtelaine of Scarswood, and life would go on for ever a perpetual round of London seasons, presentations at court, Paris winters, autumns at Scarswood, operas, balls, and all the salt of life. That was the programme. ' Man proposes ' — you know the proverb. The ante - matrimonial horizon just at present looked cloudless — a violet sky set with gold stars — not a cloud in all its dazzling expanse. And five miles away at Castleford a man and woman sat plotting her life-long misery, disgrace and ruin. Mr Dantree was in great force to-night — his voice, and looks, his whole worldly wealth, at their best. He had been the world's football a long time — a scapegoat of society, fighting his way inch by inch, and now the goal was won. Fortune such as he had never dared dream of or hope for had come to him — eight thousand a year, and a title in prospective. And all, thanks to his suave, olive-skinned beauty and flute-like voice. ' Only one week more, Gaston, mon JUsJ he said to himself, exultantly, as he whirled homeward with the Talbots, ' and then let Fate do her wor&t — she can't oust me from Scarswood and my wife. Unless — always unless —unless Marie should take it into her jealous head to come over here and hunt me up. I wonder what she said or did when she got all her letters back. I know what she thought ; there could be no two opinions on that subject. Poor, passionate, proud little beauty ! What an unmitigated scoundrel I am, to be sure ! Tho neai-er the wedding day draws the more I seem to think of her — the fonder I grow of her — all because I've given her up for evei\ I suppo.se.' But fondness for any human creature was not a weakness Mr Dantree would ever allow to stand in his way to fortune. Jealous and exacting as nature had made the baronet's daughter, her accepted lover gave her no shadow of excuse for either. He played his role of Komeo to perfection ; if it bored him insufferably she never saw it ; and now — it was only one week, and once her husband, why, all this untiring devotion might reasonably cool down a

trifle, and the continual 'tender nothings' of courtship give place to the calm friendliness of humdrum married life. ' She can't expect a fellow to dangle at her apron-strings all her days,' Mr Dantree thought : 'if she does she's mistaken—that's all. I'm ready to call all the gods to witness that I adore the ground she treads on, before the words are said, and the nuptial knot tied ; but afterwards, my bonnibelle, you'll have to take it for granted or do without. Men love most, the wiseacres say, before marriage ; women most after. How will it be with me, I wonder, who don't love at all ?' It was long past midnight when the carriage of the last guest rolled away from the hospitable portals of Scarswood, and the ' lights were fled, the garlands dead, the banquet hall deserted.' And Katherine, trailing her brilliant silk after her, her jewels gleaming in tho fitful light, eyes shining, and cheeks flushed, went up to her room. Through the oriel window ufc the head of the stairs the full winter midnight moon shone gloriously. The Bloody Hand, and the crest of the Dangerfields — a ialcon rending a dove — shone out vividly throueh tho painted pane. A black ftost held the earth in hands of iion ; the skeleton trees waved gaunt, striped arms in the park ; the wild December wind whistled shrilly up trom the coast, and overhead spread that blue, star-studded, moonlitsky. Katheiine leaned against the glass and gazed up at that j shining silver orb, and her thoughts drifted away from her own supreme bliss to that other Christmas ever so many years ago, when tha first anthem was sung by the angels over tho blue hills of Galilee. • [Catherine !' her father's door opened, and her father's \oice called. ' You will take cold to a dead certainty, standing there, i thought you had gone to your room.' ' I'm going, papa— l'm not in the Ica&b sleepy — 1 never am sleepy, [ think, on bricrht, moonlight nights like this. I wonder if my brain is touched like other lunatic 5 ! at tho full of the moon. Why are you nob in bed ? Papa !' with a sudden cry of alarm —a sudden spiing forward, ' you arc not well !' His face wa« of a strange, livid hue, there Mas a continual nervouo twitching of the muscle«, and his oyes had a murky, bloodshot look. 'Papa, darling! what ib it? Ate you ' Not very well, I fear. 1 have not been well for days, but I feel worse to-night than usual. And 1 think J ought to tell you — if anything should happen.' He paused, and put his hand to his forehead in a confused sort of way. 'My head feels all wrong somehow to-night. Katherino, if you're not sleepy, come in — 1 have something of importance to say bo you.' She followed him, in i«ome wonder and moic alarm. His face had changed from iU dull pallor to dark led, his voice sounded incoherent and husky. Whao did it all mean ? hhe entered his room, watch- I ing him with wide, wondering 1 eves. ' Sit down,' he .-aid, impatiently shifting away from her glance, and don't, staic in that way, child. 1 don't suppose it's anything to be alarmed about, only — I think I ought to tell. You're going to be married, and you ought to know. Then the burden and the secrecy will be off my conscience, and you can tell him or not, a^ you please. That will be your a Hair, and if he deserts you — ' lie stopped again, again pre°sed his hand hard over his forehead, as though the thread of his ideas had broken. ' There's something queer the matter with my head,' he half muttered: '1 don't seem able to talk or think somehow to-night.' 'Then I wouldn't try, papa,' Kafcherine interrupted, more and more alarmed ; you «ire looking dreadfully. Let me ring tor Francois to sec you and send for the doctor. 1 am sure you are not fit to be up.' ' No, no — don't send — at least nob yet. 1 ha\c made up my mind to-night, and, if 1 don't tell you now, I may never summon courage again. You ought to know, child — you ought to know. You are nob safe for an hour. It i-s like Using over alighted mine, until that woman is dead. You ought to tell him— that fellow— Dan cree, you know. If lie desert 3 you, as I said, better to do iL belore the wedding day than after. J know it is the money he wants -I know he's a coward, and a humbug, and a ioi tune-hunter, and it mny be the greatest mercy for you, child, if lie does- leave you before the wedding-day.' Katherine started to her feet. 1 Papa,' she cried passionately, ' this is too bad — too Jcruel ' I [thought, you were never going to speak against Gaston again — \ou told me you would nob — surely ho has done nothing to deserve it. This day week is my wedding day, and you talk of his deserting me. Papa, if such a thing happened — co/M happen - I would kill myself — 1 tell you I would ! I never would sur\ive such disgrace !' Eo sank into a char in a dazed, helpless soit of way. ' What shali I do ?' he said wearily ; 1 what shall Ido ? If I had only told lier years and years ago ! Now it is too late.' She stood and looked at him, pale with wonder and vague alarm. ' Told me ishat ? Is it the secret that Mrs Vavasor holds? Why nob tell me then? Whatever it is, I an bear it — I can bear anything, only your hard words of Gaston, your talk of his deserting me. Tell me, my father — I'm not a child or a coward. I can bear it, whatever it is.' 1 You think so, bub you don't know ! you don't know ! You hate that woman, and you are so proud— so proud ! You cannot bear poverty— you told >ne that — and I— what can I do? I cannot save you from ' His incoherent words died away— his head fell back. Katherine sprang to his side with a scream of terror. Another instant and she flew to the bell, ringing a peal that nearly bore it down. Oh ! what wa» this ? His face had grown purple — his whole form rigid— what he had feared so long had befallen at last. Ho was stricken with apoplexy. The room filled with frightened servants. After the first shock, all Katherine's senses came back. She despatched a man at once ito Castleford for the family doctor. Sir John was conveyed to bed, undressed, and all the ro&toratives they knew how to use applied. All in vain. With the dawning of the Christmas day, the stalwart old soldier lay before them, breathing sbentoriously, and quite senseless. Doctor Graves and his attendant, a younsr man, Mr Otis, arrived, and pronounced the fib apoplexy ab once. They sent the pale girl in the festal dre&s, the shining pearls, j and tho wild, wide eyes out of the room, and did their best for the master of that giand old houte. Bub they laboured in vain, the long hours wore away — and still Sir John lay rigid and senseless where they had first laid him, White as a spirit, almost as cold, almost as fctill, Katherine went up 1o her room. She made no attempt to change her drees, to remove her jewels. She had loved this most indulgent fathor very dearly — the possibility that he could be taken from her had never occurred to her. Only yesterday morning he had ridden with her over tho downs, only last night he had sab at the head of his table and entertained his guests. And now- -he lay yonder, stark and lifeless — dead already for what she knew. She could not rost. She left hor room, 5 and paced up and down the long corridor.

He was not dead— she could hear his loud breathing where she walked. She could nob cry ; tears that relieve obher women, othor ' girls of her age, (rarely came to Kabhenne. She felb cold and wretched. How drearily still the great house was ! Would tho&e two doctors never open that door, and let her in to her father ! What had he been trying to tell her !— what dreadful secret; was this that involved her life, and which made his so miserable ? He had talked of Gaston deserting her. The wedding must be postponed now, and postponed weddings were alway ominous.. How was it all going to end? She shivered in her low-necked and shortsleeved dress, but it never occurred to her to go for a wrap, She stood and looked out of the oriel window once more. Morning was breaking— Christmas morning- - red and goldou, and glorious in the east. The first pink rays of the sunrise glintod through the leafless trees, over terrace and glade, lawn and woodland. Outsido the gates th 6 carol singers were blithely chanting already ; new life — new joy everywhere without and within, the lord of this stately mansion, of this majestic pai'k, lay dying, it might be. " But it was not doath. The door opened presently, and tho pale, keen face of Mr Obis, tho assistant, looked out. ' Sir John has recovered consciousness, Miss Dangerfield,' he said, * and is asking for you.' 'Thank God!' Katharine's heart responded, bub the dreary oppression did not lift. She went into the sick room, knelt down beside the bod in her shining robe?, and softly kissed the helpless hand. ' You are better, pnpa ?' Bub Dr. G rases interrupted at once. 1 You may lcmain with Sir .John, Mis 3 Dangerfield, bub neither of you must speak a word. Danger is over for the present, bub [ warn you, the slightest excitement now or at any futuie time may prove fatal.' J L The cyo? of the stricken man wore fixed upon her with a strange, earnest wistfnlneb&. He tiied feebly to speak — his fingers closed almost convulsively over hors She bent her car to catch his words. 1 Send for Hammersly--I must make my will.' She ki^sod him .soothingly. ' Ye%, papa, darling, but not now. Therc'b no huny, you know— all present danger i*> over. You are to be very still, and go to Moop. I will stay by you and watch.' 'You will drink this, Sir John,' Doctor Graves said, authoritatively, and the &ick man swallowed the opiate, and, with his hand &till clasped in Katherine'fc, fell asleep. __ Dr. Graves departed. Mr Otis remained. Kabherine kept her vigil by bhe bedsido, very pale in bhc sunlight of the new day. Mr Obis watched her furtively from his remote seac. Heis was a striking face, he thought, a powerful face— a face full of character. I ' That girl will be no common woman,' bethought; 'for good or for evil, she's destined to wield a powerful influence. You don't see such a face as thao many bimes in life ' The weary moments wore on. The Christmas morning grew brighter and brighter. The house was still very quiet. Outside the wintry sunshine spark fed, and the trees rattled in the frosty wind. The pale watcher lay back in her chair, paler with every passing moment, but never offering to stir. How white she was, how weary she looked ! The young physician's heart went out to her in a great compassion. ' Miss Dangerfield, pardon me, but you aro worn out. There is no danger now, and you may safely trust Sir John to my care. Pray let me prevail upon you to go and lie down.' She opened her eyec, and looked at him in some surprise, and with a faint smile. 1 You are very kind,' she said, gently, 1 but 1 promised to stay here until he awoke. ' There was nothing moie to be said — Miss Dangerfield's tone admitted of no dispute. Mi- Obis went back to his f=eat, and listened to the ticking of the clock and the sighing of the December wind. It was almost noon when Sir John awoke — much better, and quite conscious. His daughter had never stirred. She bento\er him the instant his eyes opened. 'Papa, dear, you arc better?' ' You hore still, Kathie ?' he said feebly. 4 Have you never been bo bed ab all ?' 'No, Sir John,' Mr Obis interrupted, coming forward ; ' and I must beg of you to use your influence to send her there. Her long vigil has quite worn her oub, bub she would not leave you.' She stooped amVkissed him. • I will go now, papa. Mr Otis and Mrs Harrison will stay with you. I do feel a little tired, I admit.' Sir John's attack seemed but slight, after all. He kept his bed all next day, but on the third was ablo to sit up. 5 And I don't see any necessity for postponing our weddiner, Katherine,' Mr Gaston Danbiee said. « Since by New Year's Eve Sir John will be almosb completely restored.' ' But he will nob be able to drive to ho church with me, Gaston,' Katherine argued. ' Dr. Graves will not permit him to leave tho house for a fortnight, and besides, the excitement.' 'Katherine, 1 her lover interrupted decidedly, ' I will not have our marriage postponed — the most unlucky thing conceivable. If the governor isn't able" to go to church at Castleford, and give you away, why let's have the ceremony here in the house. If the mountain can't come to Mahomet, why Mahomet can go to the mountain. A wedding in the house is a vast deal pleasanter to my mind than in public at Castleford, with all the tagrag of bho parish agape ab the bride and groom, and all Castleford barracks clanking their spurred heels and steel scabbards up the aisles putting us out of countenance.' Katherine laughed. 'My dear bashful Gaston ! bhe firsb time I ever d roamed bhat anybhing earthly could put you out of countenance ! Well, 'l'll ask papa, and it shall be as ho &ays.' Miss Dangerfield did ask papa, and rather to her surprise received an almost eager assent. • Yes, yes,' ho said foverishly. ' Danbree's right — a postponed marriage is- the most unlucky thing on earth. We won't postpone it. Let it be in the house as he suggests, since my driving with you to church is an impossibility. Since it must be done, 'twere well 'twas done quickly ! Let the summer drawing-room be fitted up, and let the ceremony be performed there.' Mr Peter Dangerfiold had been a daily visitor at Scarswood ever since his uncle's illness —no nephew more devoted, i more anxious than he. The baronet listened to his eager inquiries after his health, his son-like anxiety, with a cynical smile. 'If I were dead there would be one the le»s between him and the bitle — you understand. I have no doubt Peter is anxious that I should never recover,' • Something's happened to Peter, papa,' answered Katherine thoughtfully, c he's gob quite a new way of talking and carrying himself of late. He looks as if some great good fortune had befallen him. Now what do you suppose it can be V

' Great good fortune,' Sir John repeated, with rather a startled face. , ' I think you ' must be mistaken, Katherine. I wonder, 1 \ very slowly this, *if— if he — has been in communication with Mrs Vavasor since her departure.' For Mrs Vavasor's presence in Castleford was still a profound secret. She had i taken lodgings in the remotest and quietest suburb of the town. She never ventured abroad by day, and had assumed an alias. She and Mr Dangerfield kept tryst in i the evenings, in lonely and deserted places, and no one save himself dreamed of her presence. | But three days now to the wedding day, and those three flew apaco. It had been arranged that since, contrary to all precedent, the marriage was to be performed at Scar&wood, ib should also take place in the evening, to be followed, in the good oldfashioned way, by a supper and ball, and the bridal party start next day for the Continent. The hour was fixed for ten, and half the country invited. Sir John's progress toward strength was very slow. .Some secret anxiety seemed preying on his mind and keeping him back. He watched his idolised darling flying up and down stairs, dashing, bright as the sunshine itself, in and out of tho room, singing like a skylark in her perfect bliss, and he shrank from the sight as though it gave him positive pain. ' How can I tell her ?' he thought ; ' how can I over tell her ? And yet I ought— l ought.' Once or twice ho feebly made the attempt, bub Katherine pub him down immediately in hor decided way. ' Not a word more, papa — 1 won't have it. I don't want to hear any nasty, annoying secrets two days before my wedding, and have my peace of mind disturbed fn this way. If I've gob to hear this disagreeable thing, let me wait until the honeymoon is over — Gaston will help me bear it then — you tried to tell me Christmas Eve, and brought on a fib of apoplexy ; and now, contrary to all medical commands, you want to begin over again, and bring on another. Bub I'm mistre&s of the situation at present, and I won't listen. So set your ~min<l at lest, and don't w ear that gloomy countenance on the eve of your only daughter's, marriage.' He was too feeblo to resist. Ho drew her to him a moment, and looked into tho happy young face with a weary sigh. ' 1 suppose few fathers look very joyous on the eve of an only daughtor's marriage, and I have greater reason than you dream of to look gloomy. But let it be as you say—let us postpone the evil hour as long as we can.' Tho last day came —the day before New Year's Eve. jThe bride elect had been busier even than usual all day. Mr Dantreo dined and spent the evening there alone. They were both very grave, very quiet — that long, peaceful evening, blie lasb of her youth and happiness never faded from the girl's memory. The pic ture, as she saw it then, haunted her to her dying hour— the big, lamp-lib drawing, room, her father's figure lying back in his easy chair before the lire, her lover ab the piano playing &ofb, melancholy airs, and she herself nestling in a dormense, listening to the music, and he whispered words —the • sweet- nothings 'of courtship She followed him out into the grand portico entrance of the house to say good-bye for bhe last time. The cold, white moon sailed up the azure, bho stars were numberless, bhe trees cast long, black shadows in bhe ivory light. The night air sighed faintly in the woodland, something in the still, solemn beauty of the dying nighb filled bhe girl's heart with a sense almost of pain. ' The sun will shine to-morrow,' Gaston whispered; 'and "blessed is the bride that the sun shines on !" Good-night, my darling, for the last time. 1 He held her in his arms a moment — for bhe last time ! Tho last time ! And no foreboding— of all that wa6 so near at hand came to her as she stood there. The promise of the night did nob hold good. Mr Dantree's prediction as to the sunshine was nob destined to be fulfilled. New Year's Eve dawned cloudy, cold and overcast. A long lamentable blast soughed up from the sea, the low-lying sky frowned darkly over the black, frost bound earth. ' We're going to have a storm,' Sir John said ; ' our gue&ts must reach us through a bempesb to-night.' The storm broke at noon— rain, sleeb and roaring wind. Kabherine shivered as she listened to bhe wild whistling of the blast. She, usually the least nervous and superstitious of human beings, felt little cold chills creeping over her, as she barkened to its winbry howls. c Ib sounds like the cry of a banshee,' she said, with a shudder, bo Edith Talbob. ' Such a wild, black, sleety, wretched winter day ! And last nighb there was not a cloud in the sky ! Edith, do you believe in omens f * I believe this is a disagreeable day, as it is in bhe nature of December days to be, and that you are a nervous goose for the first time in your life. You don't suppose Mr Dantree is sugar or salt to melt in the rain, or a feather for the wind to blow away. Don't be &o nervous and fidgety, Kathie, or you'll make me as nervous as yourself. The short, dark, winter afternoon dragged on, Wibh the fall of the nighb the storm seemed to increase. The roar of the winds deepened ; the dull thunder of the .surf on the shore reached them; the trees waved in the high gale like human things in pain, and the ceaseless sleeb lashed the glass. ' An awful night for a wedding,' even the servants whispered. «No wonder poor Miss Katherine looks a ghost.' She was pale beyond all ordinary palloi of bridehood— strangely resbless, strangely silent. Darkness fell, the whole house was lit up ; flowers bloomed everywhere as though it had beon midsummer ; warmth and luxury everywhere within contrasted with the travail of the dying year. Under the hands of her maid Katherine sat passive to all changes. The supreme hour of her life had come, and in every wail of wind, every dash of the frozen rain, she seemed to hear the warning of her old nurse : False as fair ! False as fair ! Eight o'clock. Tho Rector of Castleford and his curate had arrived. Nine ! The musicians had come, and the earliest of the nuptial guests ; the roll of carriages could bo heard through the tumult of the storm. Half-past nine ! And ( I wonder if Gaaton has yet arrived V Katherine said. It was the first time she had spoken for over an hour. Her attendant bridesmaids, five besides Mies Talbob, were all there. The dressing-rooms were bright with fair girls, floating tulle and laces, and fragrant with Powers. Miss Talbot and the French maid were alone with the bride. Tho last touch had been given to the toilet. Tho robe of dead • white silk swept in its richness far behind, the tall, slim figure looked taller and slimmer than ever, the virginal orange blossoms crowned the long, light-brown hair, the bridal veil floated like a mist over all. The last jewel was placed, the last ribbon tied, the last fall of lace arranged. She stood before the mirror fair, pale, pensive— a bride ready for the altar. A quarter of ten ! The Swiss clock,

telling the quarters startled them. How the momenta flew — how fast the gnests were arriving through the aboim. The roll of carriages was almost incessant now, and lifting her dreamy eyes Katherine repeated her inquiry : • I wonder if Gaston has come ?' ' What a question !' cried Miss Talbot. ' A bridegroom late, and that bridegroom Mr Dantree of all men. Of course he has come, and is waiting in a fever of impatience downstairs. Ninon, run and see.' The French girl went, and came flying back breathlessly. ' Mademoiselle, how strange. Monsieur [ Dantree has not arrived. Monseigneur, the j abbe, is ready and waiting — all the guests are assembled, but mon Dim 1 the brideI groom is late !' Miss Talbot looked at her friend. Neither spoke nor moved. The flock of bridesmaids, a 'rose-bud garden of girls,' came floating in with their misty drapery, their soft voice 3 and subdued laughter. It '< was ten o'clock, and the wedding hour. There was a tap at the door. Ninon opened it, and old Sir John, white as ashes , and trembling on his staff, entered and ap- ' x^roached his daughter. ' Katherine, Dantree has not come.' 1 1 know it, father. Something has haopened.' Her voice was quite steady, but a grey, ashen terror blanched her face. 'Had you not bettor send to Morecambe ?' Edith Talbot interposed. 'He was quite well when 1 left this morning. Has Georgre arrived V 1 Your brother is here, Miss Talbot.' ' And whit doe 3 he say ?' ' Nothing to the point. Before dark Dantree left him to go to his room and dress. Your brother when starting for hete sent him word, and found his loom deserted. Taking it for granted he wished to be alone, and had left for Scarswood before him, your brother came over at once. He was astonished when he arrived not to find him here.' And then dead silence feJl. What did it moan ? Below the guests had gathered in groups, whispering ominously ; in the * bridal bower ' bride and bridesmaids looked at each other's pale faces and never spoke. One by one the moments told off. A quarter past ten, and still no bridegroom ! Then all at once wheels dashed up to the door — in the entrancb hall there was the sudden bustle of an arrival. Katherine's heart gave one great bound ; and Edith Talbot, unable to endure the suspense, unable to look at her friend's tortured face, turned and ran out of the room. ' Wait !' she said. ' I will be back in a moment.' She flew down the stairs. Someone had arrived— a gentleman — but not Gaston Dantree. The new-comer, pale, breathless, eager, was only Peter Dangerfield. But he might bring news— he looked as though lie did. She was by his side in a moment, her hand on his arm. •What is it?' she said. 'Has anything happened to Mr Dantree ?' • Yes, Dangerfield,' exclaimed Captain Do Yere, coming forward. 'As secondbest man I have a right to know. Shorten the agony, if possible, and out with it. What's up? The hour is past and the bride in waiting ; where the devil is the bridegroom ?' ( To be Contimied. )