He leapt out of the carriage, and then closed the door with a bang,
while Leicester sat inside.

"Great God, what can it mean?" he said again and again.

CHAPTER X

THE WEDDING-DAY

A few minutes later Winfield returned. He entered the carriage without a
word. He seemed stunned by what he had heard.

"What is it, Winfield?--tell me."

Winfield looked thoughtful, he seemed at a loss what to do or to say.
Then he opened the carriage window.

"Drive on," he said to the coachman.

"Where to, sir?"

"The station," he said; "that is, The Beeches Station."

"Yes, sir."

"I say, what is it, Winfield?"

"I don't know."

"Don't be an ass--tell me."

"It's the general impression that there's to be no wedding to-day," said
Winfield grimly.

Leicester seemed prepared for this. He never moved a muscle of his face,
but it was evident his mind was working quickly.

"Go on," he said quietly.

"I found the church caretaker, or sexton, or whatever they call him,"
said Winfield, "and he told me that he had received orders at eight
o'clock this morning to open neither the church gates nor the church
doors, as the wedding would not take place to-day."

"I see," said Leicester. "What besides?"

"It seems the talk among these people that the telegraph clerk has had a
busy time this morning. It is said that he has sent hundreds of
telegrams, all signed 'Castlemaine.' I expect that's a bit exaggerated,"
he added.

"And the purport of these telegrams?"

"There is a general impression that they all repeated the information
which the caretaker gave me. I say, Leicester, have you any explanation
to give?"

"I? None. No, I must receive the information. Yes, at least that's due
to me."

"Have you received no communication of any sort?"

"I? No, I forgot. I did not ask about my letters this morning. I--I
think I was too--excited."

"Drinking?"

"No; but if--I say!" He put his head out of the carriage window. "Not to
The Beeches Station," he said; "the house--you understand?"

The driver grinned. Evidently he had heard what had been said, but he
said "Yes, sir," quite civilly, and changed the direction of the horses'
heads.

Winfield wanted to say more to Leicester, but he dared not, the look on
the man's face was too ghastly.

"Here's fine copy for the yellow journalist," thought Winfield. "It
seems a pity that this kind of thing is not in my line. It would be more
eagerly read than any news about th