And while he lingered there, dreading the consummation of the crowning act of his villainy, along the road he had traveled another sleigh was speeding toward the farm—a double sleigh—and in it were seated Harry Hawthorne, Detective Norris, and two stalwart policemen detailed on special duty for this occasion.
Fast flew the gallant horses under the gently urging hand of the driver, until they were in sight, then Norris exclaimed:
"There's the old house now. And, see!—a sleigh at the gate! Perhaps Standish is there now, the villain! We will be extremely lucky if we catch him on the spot!"
At the same moment, Standish tossed off a bumper of wine, exclaiming:
"Here's to the bride, the beautiful heiress! Come, let's get the ceremony over!"
The three conspirators filed up stairs and into the room where Geraldine, more dead than alive, crouched in her chair in terror of their coming.
Standish, whose spirits were much elated by generous potations of wine, crossed over to her, crying, gayly:
"Give us a kiss, pretty one! I've come to marry you at last! Here's the preacher—justice, I mean. He can tie the knot just as well. Hello, Jane! if you're the bridesmaid, get her up on her feet by my side, will you?"
The justice planted himself in readiness to perform the ceremony, but Geraldine would not permit any one to drag her up from her seat.
She fought off their hands with a wonderful strength, born of desperation, and shriek after shriek, loud, agonized, ear-piercing, burst from her pale lips.