“Young Black seemed to be in gay humor all the way home,” said Ryan. “He sung to himself, and talked and laughed, and acted as if he had had a fortune left to him. And as they drove into Inverness, he told the cabby that he wanted him to take him to church this morning at a quarter to ten o’clock, and he told him that he was going to be married to a great heiress whom he adored.” “Is there not some mistake?” asked Lord Towyn excitedly. “Can he be in love with some other lady?” “I should say not,” said Atkins dryly. “Heiresses are not as plenty as oat cakes in Scotland. He’s been courting Miss Wynde since last July, and was dead in love with her, as any one could see. He could not shift his affections so soon, and fix them upon another heiress. The young lady is Miss Wynde, fast enough. And she is either deluding him, meaning to denounce him to the minister at the altar, or to escape from him in Inverness, or else her courage is weakened, and she believes herself helpless, and has yielded to her enemies in a fit of despair.” “If she were alone upon the cliffs, she might then have attempted an escape,” said Lord Towyn, thoroughly puzzled. “I cannot feel that this smiling, loving bride is Neva. I know she is not. But we will present ourselves at the marriage, and if the bride be Neva, we will save her!” “I cannot think that she is Neva,” said Sir Harold thoughtfully. “And yet, as Atkins says, where could he have found another heiress so soon? And how, if he loved Neva so devotedly, could he be so deeply in love with this young lady who has just come up to Inverness?” “She comes from Kent,” said Ryan. “The housemaid has heard her speak of being at Canterbury within the month.” “That settles it!” cried Atkins. “It is Miss Wynde!” “Ryan,” exclaimed Lord Towyn, “you must go now and discover to what church Rufus Black is going. We will wait here for you to guide us.” Ryan bowed and departed. He was gone until nearly ten o’clock, and the time dragged heavily to Neva’s friends, who remained in their closed sitting-room, exchanging surmises and doubts, and preparing themselves for an encounter with Craven Black and Octavia. Sir Harold put on his greatcoat and turned up his collar, and wound a gray woolen muffler about the lower part of his face. He was standing thus disguised, hat in hand, when Ryan came back and quietly slipped into the room.