Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and then there came upon the air the sound of rapidly approaching wheels, a carriage stopped at the door, a groom sprang to the heads of the steaming horses, and Vernon jumped out. Then he turned, and the crowd watching from the hall saw him help Bradstone out. He was pale, but for two spots that burned like blood upon his cheeks, and his eyes glittered unnaturally. “Hurrah! here they are!” said some one. “Look sharp, Bradstone!” The two men came up the steps into the hall, Vernon with Bradstone’s arm in his. “I’m--I’m late, I’m afraid,” stammered Bradstone; “the fact is I was kept by a most important letter involving thousands!” As he spoke, those nearest him noticed that his lips were dry, and that he smelled strongly of brandy. Vernon left him and ran to the study, and Lord Carfield, hearing the shout, came out and seized him by the arm. “I’ve got him,” whispered Vernon, “but--but--confound it, I have to say it! but--but I think the fellow is more than half drunk!” “Impossible!” said Lord Carfield, in a low tone of horror. “But--but I’m afraid it’s true, my lord,” said Vernon. “I’ve given him soda water, and made him bathe his head. Oh, Lord! it’s too awful to think of! That sweet young creature!” and the young fellow uttered an oath which will probably be forgiven him. Lord Carfield held the study door in his hand. “Keep him out of the squire’s sight,” he said, in a troubled voice. “I suppose she must go now with him. What can have come to him?” “Oh, she must go,” assented Vernon, despairingly. “Here”--to the footman--“tell Miss--confound it! I mean Mrs. Bradstone’s maid--that the carriage is waiting. Be sharp.” The footman was hurrying across the hall, when, forcing his way through the crowd of guests, a man whom everybody recognized as the head keeper, caught him by the arm. “The squire!” he said, breathlessly. “The squire! Where is he? At once! I must see him!” “S--sh!” warned the footman, “don’t make that noise, Browne. You can’t see him now!” “I must--or Lord Carfield.” The earl came forward. “What is it, Browne? Why are you so excited? What’s the matter?” “Beg pardon, my lord,” said the man, agitatedly. “It’s murder; that’s what’s the matter!” CHAPTER XXV. FOR ANOTHER’S SAKE. “Murder!” It is an awful word. No wonder that a shudder ran through the gayly dressed guests. Even Aunt Amelia may be excused for falling into hysterics, which, of course, she did instantly. Lord Carfield stepped forward and held up his hand to the keeper, warningly; but the warning gesture came too late. Miss Amelia’s shrieks were ringing through the vaulted hall, and at the head of the stairs, looking down upon the scene of confusion and consternation, stood Olivia. Bessie was by her side with her traveling wrap over her arm, and instinctively she stretched out her hand and grasped her mistress’. So the two girls stood and waited.