For a minute Sir Harold stared at the paper aghast, then darting through the open doorway, he plunged into the garden in quest of the man or woman the shock of whose presence had deprived Mr. Hamilton of life. CHAPTER XIX. A FUNERAL AND A WEDDING. In every bush, and tree, and lurking shadow the young baronet probed, but without avail. The evil messenger was gone, and he now had to break the awful news to poor Theresa. He stood for a few minutes with his hands clasped to his throbbing temples. Then he hurried back to the cottage, and after taking one hasty glance about him, his first care was to destroy the fatal scrawl. This much accomplished, he crept softly to Stimson’s room, hastily roused the man, and sent him for the nearest doctor. “Mr. Hamilton is dead,” he whispered to the horrified valet; “has died of heart failure! To me it was not unexpected, as he predicted it only a few days since; but we must have the independent opinion of a doctor to save trouble.” “Yes, Sir Harold. I know Tenterden very well. The parish doctor lives next door to the rectory,” Stimson said. In a few minutes he was gone, and Sir Harold was confronted by the awkwardness of his position. There was only one thing for him to do now, and that was to marry Theresa at once. He would be then her natural and lawful protector. “Stimson shall call upon the rector of Tenterden,” he decided, “and I will interview him here. I see no reason why I should hide my identity. Let people think and say what they will. No, I will be married as Sir Harold Annesley immediately after the funeral, and we will go abroad at once! As for this accursed vendetta, I will leave no stone unturned to bring the fiends to justice!” The doctor came and viewed the body. He was satisfied that death was the result of heart disease. He listened to the relation of Mr. Hamilton’s unusual exertions during the day, and was satisfied. An ordinary certificate would be promptly granted. When he was gone, Sir Harold and Stimson carried the body upstairs, and laid it on the bed wherein Mr. Hamilton had slept for many years. Then the house became silent again, and Theresa was sleeping, a happy smile upon her face and Sir Harold’s name upon her lips. The morning broke dull and gray. There was a wet mist everywhere, and the birds that loved to carol in the sunshine were voiceless. The deaf servant came downstairs at an early hour, and was surprised to find Sir Harold already about and talking earnestly to his man. When Theresa appeared, she noticed the worn look upon her lover’s face, and he took her gently aside. “You are not well, Harold!” she said in sudden alarm. “You have heard bad news!” “Theresa, my poor Theresa, I have heard bad news, and I know not how best to tell it to you.” He felt that he was blundering, and his heart smote him when her face blanched deathly white. “My dear little girl,” he said, “come to my arms and let me hold you tight.”