talking together in a group, and such of them as
had canes leant on them.

Suddenly—about the time that it was known
that the major was addressing the company—
a cab drove up, and two plain blunt-looking men
jumped out, hurried up the steps, but had rung
the bell very quietly. As soon as the door was
opened, they had stepped in promptly, without
telling their business, and one of them, taking
hold of the handle, had shut the door to,
himself, very quickly. The gentlemen outside with
the canes assumed them to be connected with
the feast. They asked for the major. The
servants of the house were all about the hall,
some at the door listening (with the freedom
pardonable on such an occasion) to the major's
speech.

The hard-working faithful son, who was
upstairs looking to the last preparations for his
father's departure, came down to them. One of
the hard plain men, with a sort of tap on
his arm, took him aside, and gave him a short
whisper, finishing off the whisper with a sharp
nod. The son gave a gasp and a half cry, and
looked at them with a wild stupid stare.

"Better you tell him," said the plain man,
"than we—more decent of the two. Ah! two
doors, I see."

And he walked down the passage to the door
by which the diners made their entrance.

On him had looked out for a second the white
twitching face of the major. To the other, who
waited in the hall, the white twitching face also
presently showed itself.

"Now, now," it said, "what is this? At such
a time, too! Really, most inconvenient! Now,
take care," said he, dropping his voice; "is
there no mistake?"

"On my word, Major Carter, no," said the
blunt man.

"Most inconvenient," said the other, rubbing
his white fingers over and over each other. "At
such a time, too. Come up-stairs with me to
the drawing-room for a moment, will you?"

The two rough men agreed, and they went up;
Major Carter, in his bright wedding finery, a
little in front. Menial eyes wondered exceedingly.
The hall door was now open, and the
gentlemen on the steps (with the canes) looked
in eagerly. There was quite a perspective of
menial faces and canes. The two men and the
major shut themselves in the drawing-room, and
locked the doors.

A few minutes later, the son, with a miserable
and despairing face, looked into the dining-room,
where was the feast in all its magnificence, and
the flushed faces, and he whispered to the person
nearest, imploringly, "Do go away, and get
them to go away. O, something terrible has
happened!"

This was but a whisper, yet someway every
one in the room had an instinct of what was
said. There was a sudden rustle of ladies rising, a
sound as of chairs pushed back. Even the newly-
made Mrs. Carter—in an agitation she had not
known for years—hurried to the door. The
ladies fell back from her—female public outraged
at having been seduced into this unpleasantness.

"But what is it?" said the young cavalry
lord. "No one seems to know."

"Bailiffs, as I hope to be saved," said Old
Foley. "I know the look of the thing. I
remember Tommy Jackson, at a dinner he was
giving to a few——"

In a few moments, by some mysterious means,
the word "Police" had got into the room. No
one could tell how, for no one could know.
Perhaps they read it in guilty characters on the
miserable son's face, perhaps it was in the air,
and had forced itself on every one present.
Then it was, sauve qui peut.

"Come, Blanche," said Lady Laura, gathering
up her skirts as if she were in the ward of a
Fever Hospital. "Let us get away from this
dreadful place. Good gracious! Never mind,
calling up the carriage—they will keep us hours
—we can walk to it." She was thinking of
young Spendlesham.

At the door, the old chariot and the posters
were waiting in stupid immobility. The news
had not reached the crowd outside. But there
was a perfect rout. The gentlemen with the
canes were busy. The carriages were plunging
and converging to the door, while the old
chariot stood waiting for its tenants, as if
they were really to come out together. The
crowd, thinking so too, gathered more and
more on the steps, and looked eagerly into the
hall.

They were never to come out together. Mrs.
Wrigley was in her bedroom in fits, with a
charitable lady or two trying to help her. One
gentleman or two, whose sister or mother or wife
had left a shawl or a parasol in the drawing-room,
hurried up, and, trying the doors, found them
locked.

Inside, the miserable Carter sat handcuffed
between two officers. They were waiting—
charitably—for the house to be cleared.

Finally it was cleared. There were wild stories
among the neighbours, and a small knot kept
about the door for the rest of the day. In a
short time arrived Mr. Speedy, who went in.
Then the drawing-room door was unlocked, and
a cab called. Then the hall door was opened
quickly, and a short thin figure, with a white
face, muffled in a great cloak, ran down the steps
with a blunt man on each side, and got into the
cab. "There he is!" said the little knot. There
was no glowing list of fashionable company in
The Morning Plush; but in the evening papers
was to be read for a penny an account of the
whole. One called it "The Interrupted
Wedding," another, the "Esclandre in Fashionable
Life." Translating both, Major Carter was
formally charged before a magistrate with the
murder of his first wife in Wales, and was
transmitted, by the night train, to that jurisdiction,
to await his trial. It furnished abundant talk