They felt a little safer when a brougham dashed up to the house and carried off Fraser and his supporter, and safer still when his father appeared with Poppy Tyrell on his arm, blushing sweetly and throwing a glance in their direction, which was like to have led to a quarrel until Tommy created a diversion by stating that it was intended for him. By the time Flower arrived the road was clear, and the house had lapsed into its accustomed quiet. An old seafaring man, whose interest in weddings had ceased three days after his own, indicated the house with the stem of his pipe. It was an old house with a broad step and a wide-open door, and on the step a small servant, in a huge cap with her hands clasped together, stood gazing excitedly up the road. “Cap’n Fraser live here?” enquired Flower, after a cautious glance at the windows. “Yes, sir,” said the small servant; “he’s getting married at this very instant.” “You’ll be married one of these days if you’re a good girl,” said Flower, who was in excellent humour. The small girl forgot her cap and gave her head a toss. Then she regarded him thoughtfully, and after adjusting the cap, smoothed down her apron and said, “she was in no hurry; she never took any notice of them.” Flower looked round and pondered. He was anxious, if possible, to see Fraser and catch the first train back. “Cap’n Fraser was in good spirits, I suppose?” he said, cautiously. “Very good spirits,” admitted the small servant, “but nervous.” “And Miss Tipping?” suggested Flower. “Miss who?” enquired the small girl, with a superior smile. “Miss Tyrell you mean, don’t you?” Flower stared at her in astonishment. “No, Miss Tipping,” he said, sharply, “the bride. Is Miss Tyrell here too?” The small girl was astonished in her turn. “Miss Tyrell is the bride,” she said, dwelling fondly on the last word. “Who’s Miss Tipping?” “What’s the bride’s Christian name?” demanded Flower, catching her fiercely by the hand. He was certain of the reply before the now thoroughly frightened small girl could find breath enough to utter it, and at the word “Poppy,” he turned without a word and ran up the road. Then he stopped, and coming back hastily, called out to her for the whereabouts of the church. “Straight up there and second turning on the left,” cried the small girl, her fear giving place to curiosity. “What’s the matter?” But Flower was running doggedly up the road, thinking in a confused fashion as he ran. At first he thought that Joe had blundered; then, as he remembered his manner and his apparent haste to get rid of him, amazement and anger jostled each other in his mind. Out of breath, his pace slackened to a walk, and then broke into a run again as he turned the corner, and the church came into view.