At twelve o'clock a move was made to go upstairs to bed; and until that hour we had still been expecting Captain Foliott. "I feel positive some dreadful accident has happened," whispered Helen to me as she said good-night, her usually bright colour faded to paleness. "If I thought it was carelessness that is causing the delay, as they are cruelly saying, I--I should never forgive him." "Wait a minute," said Bill to me aside, touching Tod also. "Let them go on." "Are you not coming, William?" said Lady Whitney. "In two minutes, mother." "I don't like this," began Bill, speaking to us both over our bed-candles, for the other lights were out. "I'll be hanged if I think he means to turn up at all!" "But why should he not?" "Who is to know? Why has he not turned up already? I can tell you that it seems to me uncommonly strange. Half-a-dozen times to-night I had a great mind to call my father out and tell him about what you heard in the train, Tod. It is so extraordinary for a man, coming up to his wedding, not to appear: especially when he is bringing the settlements with him." Neither of us spoke. What, indeed, could we say to so unpleasant a topic? Bill went on again. "If he were a man in business, as his uncle, old Foliott, is, I could readily understand that interests connected with it might detain him till the last moment. But he is not; he has not an earthly thing to do." "Perhaps his lawyers are in fault," cried Tod. "If they are backward with the deeds of settlement----" "The deeds were ready a week ago. Foliott said so in writing to my father." A silence ensued, rendering the street noises more audible. Suddenly there came a sound of a horse and cab dashing along, and it pulled up at our door. Foliott, of course. Down we went, helter-skelter, out on the pavement. The servants, busy in the dining-room still, came running to the steps. A gentleman, getting out of the cab with a portmanteau, stared, first at us, then at the house. "This is not right," said he to the driver, after looking about him. "It's next door but one." "This is the number you told me, sir." "Ah, yes. Made a mistake." But so sure did it seem to us that this late and hurried traveller must be, at least, some one connected with Captain Foliott, if not himself, that it was only when he and his luggage had disappeared within the next house but one, and the door was shut, and the cab gone away, that we realized the disappointment, and the vague feeling of discomfort it left behind. The servants went in. We strolled to the opposite side of the street, unconsciously hoping that luck might bring another cab with the right man in it. "Look there!" whispered Bill, pointing upwards. The room over the drawing-room was Lady Whitney's; the room above that, the girls'. Leaning out at the window, gazing now up the street, now down, was Helen, her eyes restless, her face pale and woe-begone in the bright moonlight.