"There are all the carriages. How well the men look! Laura must have spent a fortune in white ribbon and gloves for them--and the horses, dear things!"--a woman of Lady Louisa's stamp is generally enthusiastic about horses, it is such a safe thing--"they look as if they knew it was a wedding. O, good gracious!" "What is the matter. Lady Louisa?" "A man from the railway--with a telegram--yes, I am sure it's a telegram! Do you know, I have such a horror of telegrams! I always fancy they mean illness--or death--or something dreadful. Very absurd of me, isn't it? And I daresay this is only a message about some delayed parcel, or some one who was to be here and can't come, or something of that kind." The room was full of idle people by this time. Every one went to the open window and stared down at the man who had brought the telegram. He had given his message, and was standing on the broad flight of steps before the Castle door, waiting for the return of the official who had taken it. Whether the electric wires had brought the tidings of some great calamity, or a milliner's apology for a delayed bonnet, was impossible to guess. The messenger stood there stolid and impenetrable, and there was nothing to be divined from his aspect. But presently, while a vague anxiety possessed almost every one present, there came from the staircase without a sudden cry of woe--a woman's shriek, long and shrill, ominous as the wail of the banshee. There was a rush to the door, and the women crowded out in a distracted way. Lady Laura was fainting in her husband's arms, and George Fairfax was standing near her reading a telegram. People had not long to wait for the evil news. Lord Calderwood had been seized with a paralytic stroke--his third attack--at ten o'clock the previous night, and had expired at half-past eight that morning. There could be no wedding that day--nor for many days and weeks to come. "O, Geraldine, my poor Geraldine, let me go to her!" cried Lady Laura, disengaging herself from her husband's arms and rushing upstairs. Mr. Armstrong hurried after her. "Laura, my sweet girl, don't agitate yourself; consider yourself," he cried, and followed, with Lady Louisa sobbing and wailing behind him. Geraldine had not left her room yet. The ill news was to find her on the threshold, calm and lovely in the splendour of her bridal dress. * * * * * CHAPTER XVII. "'TIS DEEPEST WINTER IN LORD TIMOR'S PURSE."