"Her letter is under a false bottom in the box," said Stark; then he turned to some friends and Lee went his way. In his mind was a great desire to visit Dartmouth and complete these secret plans. Yet the awful danger to Grace if misfortune overtook him and kept him from returning, made him hesitate to incur other risks than those already run. CHAPTER VIII HUE AND CRY When Thomas Putt reached Widecombe Church on the morning of the wedding, he found the company from Chagford had already arrived. Peter Norcot's bottle-green coat, gilt buttons, and noble shirt frill, presented an imposing and attractive appearance; his sister Gertrude was attired in lace and silk of a faded lavender hue; his man Mason wore a mighty bouquet of flowers on his new livery. Last of this party was the bridegroom's cousin from Exeter--a young Clerk in Orders, one Relton Norcot, whose flat and somewhat vacant countenance grew pale as he heard the news. He feared the issue and expected an explosion, but his knowledge of Mr. Norcot was small. When Putt announced that Grace Malherb had vanished in the night, Peter's eyes contracted a little; he rose from his seat, thrust his hands deep in his breeches pockets, and began to pace up and down in front of the altar rails, regardless of the whispering crowd in the church. His reverend cousin drew him to the vestry; then the disappointed lover spoke. "I'm very little surprised. We must act with the utmost promptitude. She's not done this thing single-handed. I'll wager that groom John Lee's in this, and, like enough, Stark, too. He is the rascal for whom she suffered imprisonment." Peter next turned to Putt. "Tell us all you know," he said. "Only that the window was open, your honour," answered Tom, who secretly prided himself on the entire conduct of the affair. "'Twas by the window Miss Grace went out. Her left a letter for her mother. They do say--Mrs. Beer I mean--that her wrote her'd rather die a thousand deaths than have you, begging your honour's pardon for mentioning it. She said as she was going to be in trusty hands also." Peter nodded, while the young clergyman with the fatuous face began to get out of his surplice. "She must have been very badly brought up," he remarked, and Norcot stared at his cousin; but his mind was on the matter in hand. "I shall proceed instantly to Dartmouth," he said. "Tell Mason to saddle my horse and his own. Either from Dartmouth or Tor Quay they will endeavour to leave the country. Mark me, that man Stark has broke prison again. Is Mr. Malherb in communication with Prince Town?"