He stopped and hesitated, like a man reluctant to go farther.
“Go on,” said the earl, gravely.
“Well, my lord, a gentleman came up. I—I think he was waiting near. I—I—don’t know; but he came up at once. He—he—says to me”—he stopped again and looked troubled—“‘Go for the constable, Browne. You’ll find him at the entrance to the lawn. I’ll wait and watch here.’ I—I ran off at once, and I found the p’liceman and sent him to the wood, and—and then I came on here.”
There was a moment’s silence, then Lord Carfield said, solemnly:
“Who was this gentleman, Browne?”
The keeper opened his lips, and, glancing round, hesitated.
“Am I to say, squire?” he asked.
Before the squire could reply, a roar as of an approaching crowd reached the hall. It came nearer and nearer, until it seemed as if it were just outside; then, as the footman opened the door, the wedding guests saw an immense throng of people gathered outside. The policeman, with another man beside him, separated themselves from the mass, and walked into the hall.
A thrill of surprise ran through the spectators, for the man beside whom the policeman stood so closely and watchfully was Harold Faradeane.
His ordinarily pale face was graver even than usual, but it was perfectly calm, and he looked round and met the curious gaze of those about him with a calm steadfastness. For a moment only, as he saw Olivia on the staircase, his eyes wavered and his lips trembled; then he seemed to recover himself, and stood silent and self-possessed.