Neither Raby nor Amboyne came down again, and Mr. Beresford remarked aloud that the bride's room was like the lion's den in the fable, “'Vestigia nulla retrorsum.'”
At last the situation became intolerable to Coventry. He rose, in desperation, and said, with a ghastly attempt at a smile, that he must, nevertheless, face the dangers of the place himself, as the carriage was now packed, and Mrs. Coventry and he, though loath to leave their kind friends, had a longish journey before them. “Do not move, I pray; I shall be back directly.”
As soon as he had got out of the room, he held a whispered consultation with Lally, and then, collecting all his courage, and summoning all his presence of mind, he went slowly up the stairs, determined to disown Lally's acts (Lally himself had suggested this), and pacify Grace's friends, if he could; but, failing that, to turn round, and stand haughtily on his legal rights, ay, and enforce them too.
But, meantime, what had passed in the bride's chamber?
Raby found Grace Carden, with her head buried on her toilet-table, and her hair all streaming down her back.
The floor was strewn with pearls and broken ornaments, and fragments of the bridal veil. On the table lay Henry Little's letter.
Jael took it without a word, and gave it to Raby.
He took it, and, after a loud ejaculation of surprise, began to read it.
He had not quite finished it when Dr. Amboyne tapped at the door, and Jael let him in.
The crushed figure with disheveled hair, and Raby's eye gleaming over the letter in his hand, told him at once what was going on.