At this moment the bride with a sweep of her hand, threw back her vail. As her bright, dark face, so like a gipsy’s and with a glow of happiness upon it, met the gaze of the spectators, Sir Harold stifled a groan. Lord Towyn stared at the pretty brown face, with its fluctuating color, and the softly melting black eyes, and a dead pallor covered his face. If this young girl was the chosen bride of Rufus Black, where was Neva? Why had Rufus given her up? The wildest fears for her life and safety possessed him. The marriage went on. The four pursuers who had come to interrupt the proceedings sat in their high-backed pew as if utterly stupefied. What objection could they raise to the marriage of Rufus Black to a stranger who came to the church escorted by her friends? Why should they object to such a marriage? They heard the questions and answers as in a trance. The name of Lalla Bird sounded strangely upon their ears. And when the minister said, “I now pronounce you man and wife, and whom God has joined together let not man put asunder,” Sir Harold Wynde and the young earl looked at each other with terrified, inquiring eyes, that asked the question that filled their souls alike: Where was Neva? After the prayer that followed the ceremony, the minister went into the vestry, followed by the newly married pair, the steward and his wife, and good Mrs. Peters. The casual spectators of the wedding stole silently out of the church. “Well, I’ve come up here on a fool’s errand,” muttered Ryan, in a tone of chagrin. “Perhaps not,” said Lord Towyn. “Rufus may be able to give us some clue to his father’s whereabouts, if we approach him judiciously. I am going into the vestry to see him.” “And I too,” said the baronet, rising. The young earl led the way from their pew to the vestry, Sir Harold at his side, and Mr. Atkins and Ryan behind them. The bride, all blushes and smiles, was writing her name in the marriage register, when the young earl and his companions entered the small room. Rufus Black had just signed it, and was putting on his gloves. He gave a great start as he recognized Lord Towyn and Atkins, and stared beyond them with an unmistakable terror, as if he expected to behold the cynical sneering face and angry eyes of his father looming up behind the intruders. “You here, my lord?” he faltered. “Yes, Rufus,” said the young earl, holding out his hand. “We happened to be at Inverness and have been witnesses to your marriage. Permit us to congratulate you.” Rufus drew a long breath of relief and shook the earl’s hand heartily. “I thought--I thought--” he began, confused and hesitating--“I was afraid-- But never mind. It’s odd your being up here, my lord. How do you do, Atkins? Lally,” and Rufus turned to his young wife, who was looking curiously at the new-comers, “here are some friends of mine, up from Kent. Lord Towyn, Lally, and Mr. Atkins of Canterbury.” Lally blushed and acknowledged the introduction gracefully.