A few more questions and answers, and the gentlemen, exchanging friendly adieus, pursued each his own course; Sir Owen Ap Rice pushing forward for Cheltenham, and the Earl of Pendennyss proceeding to act as groomsman to his cousin.

The gates of Eltringham were open to the admission of many an equipage on the following day, and the heart of the Lady Laura beat quick, as the sound of wheels, at different times, reached her ears.  At last an unusual movement in the house drew her to a window of her dressing-room, and the blood rushed to her heart as she beheld the equipages which were rapidly approaching, and through the mist which stole over her eyes she saw alight from the first, the Duke of Derwent and the bridegroom.  The next contained Lord Pendennyss, and the last the Bishop of——.  Lady Laura waited to see no more, but with a heart filled with terror, hope, joy, and uneasiness, she threw herself into the arms of one of her sisters.

“Ah!” exclaimed Lord Henry Stapleton, about a week after the wedding of his sister, seizing John suddenly by the arm, while the latter was taking his morning walk to the residence of the dowager Lady Chatterton, “Moseley, you dissipated youth, in town yet:  you told me you should stay but a day, and here I find you at the end of a fortnight.”

John blushed a little at the consciousness of his reason for sending a written, instead of carrying a verbal report, of the result of his journey, but replied,

“Yes, my friend Chatterton unexpectedly arrived, and so—­and so—­”

“And so you did not go, I presume you mean,” cried Lord Henry, with a laugh.

“Yes,” said John, “and so I stayed—­but where is Denbigh?”

“Where?—­why with his wife, where every well-behaved man should be, especially for the first month,” rejoined the sailor, gaily.

“Wife!” echoed John, as soon as he felt able to give utterance to his words—­“wife! is he married?”

“Married,” cried Lord Henry, imitating his manner, “are you yet to learn that? why did you ask for him?”

“Ask for him!” said Moseley, yet lost in astonishment; “but when—­how—­where did he marry—­my lord?”

Lord Henry looked at him for a moment with a surprise little short of his own, as he answered more gravely: 

“When?—­last Tuesday; how? by special license, and the Bishop of——­; where?—­at Eltringham:—­yes, my dear fellow,” continued he, with his former gaiety, “George is my brother now—­and a fine fellow he is.”

“I really wish your lordship much joy,” said John, struggling to command his feelings.

“Thank you—­thank you,” replied the sailor; “a jolly time we had of it, Moseley.  I wish, with all my heart, you had been there; no bolting or running away as soon as spliced, but a regularly constructed, old-fashioned wedding; all my doings.  I wrote Laura that time was scarce, and I had none to throw away on fooleries; so dear, good soul, she consented to let me have everything my own way.  We had Derwent and Pendennyss, the marquess, Lord William, and myself, for groomsmen, and my three sisters—­ah, that was bad, but there was no helping it—­Lady Harriet Denbigh, and an old maid, a cousin of ours, for bridesmaids; could not help the old maid either, upon my honor, or be quite certain I would.”