We only knew it on the day before the wedding was to be. On Wednesday morning, a fine, crisp, October day, a shooting party was to meet at old Appleton's, who lived over beyond Church Dykely. The Squire and Tod started for it after an early breakfast, and they let me go part of the way with them. Just after passing Caromel's Farm, we met Pettipher the postman. "Anything for the Manor?" asked the pater. "Yes, sir," answered the man; and, diving into his bundle, he handed a letter. "This is not mine," said the Squire, looking at the address; "this is for Mr. Caromel." "Oh! I beg your pardon, sir; I took out the wrong letter. This is yours." "What a thin letter!--come from foreign parts," remarked the pater, reading the address, "Nash Caromel, Esq." "I seem to know the handwriting: fancy I've seen it before. Here, take it, Pettipher." In passing the letter to Pettipher, which was a ship's letter, I looked at the said writing. Very small poor writing indeed, with long angular tails to the letters up and down, especially the capitals. The Squire handed me his gun and was turning to walk on, opening his letter as he did so; when Pettipher spoke and arrested him. "Have you heard what's coming off yonder, to-morrow, sir?" asked he, pointing with his thumb to Caromel's Farm. "Why no," said the Squire, wondering what Pettipher meant to be at. "What should be coming off!" "Mr. Caromel's going to bring a wife home. Leastways, going to get married." "I don't believe it," burst forth the pater, after staring angrily at the man. "You'd better take care what you say, Pettipher." "But it's true, sir," reasoned Pettipher, "though it's not generally known. My niece is apprentice to Mrs. King the dressmaker, as perhaps you know, sir, and they are making Miss Nave's wedding-dress and bonnet. They are to be married quite early, sir, nine o'clock, before folks are about. Well yes, sir, it is _not_ seemly, seeing he has but now heard of his wife's death, poor Miss Charlotte Tinkle, that grew up among us--but you'll find it's true." Whether the Squire gave more hot words to Nash Caromel, or to Charlotte the Second, or to Pettipher for telling it, I can't say now. Pettipher touched his hat, said good-morning, and turned up the avenue to Caromel's Farm to leave the letter for Nash. And, married they were on the following morning, amidst a score or two of spectators. What was agate had slipped out to others as well as ourselves. Old Clerk Bumford looked more fierce than a raven when he saw us flocking into the church, after Nash had fee'd him to keep it quiet. As the clock struck nine, the party came up. The bride and one of her sisters, both in white silk; Nave and some strange gentleman, who might be a friend of his; and Caromel, pale as a ghost. Charlotte the Second was pale too, but uncommonly pretty, her mass of beautiful hair shining like threads of gold.