re, perhaps, and even if we'd reached her we might have been
too late."

There was a certain tumultuous joy in my heart, far removed from
happiness, yet intoxicating as new wine. Karine might never be mine, but
she was saved, and it would be I who had saved her. I could never be
regarded by her quite with indifference after this day.

As we drove we made various hurried plans as to what we should do if we
were refused admittance. We were determined at least to see Karine, even
if we were obliged to force our way into her presence.

As we got out of the carriage and ran up the four or five broad stone
steps that led to the front door, something crackled under our feet like
exaggerated grains of sand. We were far enough, however, from guessing
the nature of the foreign substance that was thus crushed beneath our
disregarding boot-soles.

The door was opened by a smiling footman. He was not the man I had
previously seen, and evidently, judging from the genial flush on his
face and the twinkle in his eye, something agreeable or amusing had
recently taken place. He tried to draw his countenance into the
conventional lines of footman-like solemnity, but, his eyes lighting
upon Cunningham, the expression changed to one of surprise. Very
possibly he noted the similarity of colouring between the brother and
sister, and a certain vague haunting likeness that would show itself at
times.

"If Miss Cunningham is at home, tell her that her brother has come and
wishes to see her immediately on a matter of importance," said my
companion, valiantly taking the bull by the horns.

"Miss Cunningham is not at home, sir," replied the servant. "She--that
is--in fact, sir, she has just left us for good and all. She--she was
married, sir, at half-past ten o'clock this morning, and the wedding
breakfast's only been over since an hour ago."

The gritty substance under our feet had been the rice thrown, as though
in mockery, after Karine as she passed to her carriage on her husband's
arm.

CHAPTER XXVIII

A Wild-Goose Chase

"Do you know where the--the bride and groom have gone?" questioned
Cunningham, grudgingly.

"No, sir. I heard Lady Tressidy say only this morning that even she
hadn't been told. Mr. Wildred had some idea of a surprise, I believe,
sir."

The fact that not only had my companion claimed to be the brother of the
bride, but that his facial expression and colouring answered for his
truth, caused the fellow t