The study door opened and the squire looked out.
“Olivia,” he said, “isn’t—isn’t the time up?”
Lord Carfield went to him, and putting his arm through his, drew him into the study again.
“There’s a little delay, squire,” he said. “There is plenty of time.”
Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and then there came upon the air the sound of rapidly approaching wheels, a carriage stopped at the door, a groom sprang to the heads of the steaming horses, and Vernon jumped out. Then he turned, and the crowd watching from the hall saw him help Bradstone out.
He was pale, but for two spots that burned like blood upon his cheeks, and his eyes glittered unnaturally.
“Hurrah! here they are!” said some one. “Look sharp, Bradstone!”
The two men came up the steps into the hall, Vernon with Bradstone’s arm in his.
“I’m—I’m late, I’m afraid,” stammered Bradstone; “the fact is I was kept by a most important letter involving thousands!”
As he spoke, those nearest him noticed that his lips were dry, and that he smelled strongly of brandy. Vernon left him and ran to the study, and Lord Carfield, hearing the shout, came out and seized him by the arm.