"God blesh me, no!" rejoined this young statesman. "Feelings delicacy prevented. Realized having had three—four—five—Barn Burners; washn't in fit condition to approach family mansion. Alwaysh mos' delicate. Felt m'self no condition shtan' up bes' man to mosh admi'ble man and mosh admi'ble girl in worl'. Sent packazh in by servant, from gate—turned round—drove off—found you. Lo, th' bridegroom cometh! Li'l late!"
My only answer was to spring from his carriage into my own and to order my driver to go on at a run. At last I reached the driveway of Elmhurst, my carriage wheels cutting the gravel as we galloped up to the front door. My approach was noted. Even as I hurried up the steps the tall form of none other than Mr. Daniel Churchill appeared to greet me. I extended my hand. He did not notice it. I began to speak. He bade me pause.
"To what may I attribute this visit, Mr. Trist?" he asked me, with dignity.
"Since you ask me, and seem not to know," I replied, "I may say that I am here to marry your daughter, Miss Elisabeth! I presume that the minister of the gospel is already here?"
"The minister is here," he answered. "There lacks one thing—the bride."
"What do you mean?"
He put out his arm across the door.
"I regret that I must bar my door to you. But you must take my word, as coming from my daughter, that you are not to come here to-night."
I looked at him, my eyes staring wide. I could not believe what he said.
"Why," I began; "how utterly monstrous!"