But this latter idea did not apparently greatly lure him, for he continued to plod upwards, even while considering it, to the tune of the clamouring bells.

Arriving finally at the top of the hill and finding there a crowd of vehicles of all descriptions, he paused to breathe and to search for the Baronmead motors.

He found them eventually, but there was no one in attendance.  The servants were all herded in the churchyard for a view of the bridal procession, for which a passage across the road to the Rectory grounds was being kept.

Capper stationed himself, with another rueful glance as his boots, as near as he could get to the open lych-gate, and there stood grimly conspicuous, watching the scene with his alert green eyes, that held the glint of a tolerant smile, and cracking his thin, yellow fingers one by one.  No one gave him a second glance, or dreamed for an instant that one of the greatest men in the Western Hemisphere was standing on the edge of the crowd.

They came at last—­bride and bridegroom—­flushed and hastening through a shower of rose petals.

Bertie was laughing all over his brown face.  He was holding Dot’s hand very fast, and as they descended the red-carpeted steps into the road he leaned to her, whispering.  She laughed back at him with shining eyes, her round face radiant beneath the orange blossom.  Neither of them glanced to right or left.  Swiftly through the fallen rose leaves they crossed to the Rectory gateway and were lost to view.

A bevy of bridesmaids ran laughing after them, and then came a pause.

Capper edged a little nearer to the churchyard steps and waited.  The clamour of bells was incessant, wholly drowning the clamour of voices.  Everyone was craning forward to see the crowd of guests.  The long procession had already begun to issue from the church porch.  It moved very slowly, for at the head of it, his hand on his mother’s arm, came Lucas Errol.

He walked with extreme difficulty, leaning on a crutch.  His head was uncovered, and the glare of the September sunlight smote full upon it.  The hair was turning very grey.

He was smiling as he came, but his brows were slightly drawn, his eyes sunk in deep hollows.

Swiftly and comprehensively the man at the foot of the steps scanned every detail, marked the halting, painful progress, the lined forehead.  And the next moment, as Lucas paused, preparatory to descending, he pushed forward with characteristic decision of movement and moved upwards to his side.

“I guess you’ll find me useful at this juncture,” he said.

Lucas’s start of surprise was instantly followed by a smile of welcome.  He gripped Capper’s hand warmly.

“The very man I want!  But how in wonder did you get here?  You never walked all the way from the station?”

“I did,” said Capper.

“You don’t say!  Why didn’t you let me know?  I guess we must move on.  We are blocking the gangway.”