“It is a cruel jest,” she cried at last, “but it must be only a jest.  The man’s horse is blown, he came so fast.  And he insisted on seeing me and would give this only into my own hands; his message was that it was life and death, that I must read it at once before the—­” She stopped with a shudder, and held out a paper that she had been grasping; it was crumpled by the tightening of her fingers over it.  There was a sound of footsteps and voices in the hall; the minister looked toward the door, and listened.  “You must read it now, this instant, before they come in,” cried Elizabeth:  “it must be done; I don’t dare not to have you; and tell me that it has no power, it is only a wicked jest; and throw it into the fire.  Oh, quick, be quick.”

Parson Shurtleff unfolded the paper with the haste of age, youth’s deliberateness, and began to read at last.  At the same instant a hand outside was laid on the latch of the door.  The room was in a breathless hush.  The door was swung slowly open by a servant and the bride and bridegroom came in, stopping just beyond the threshold as Katie caught sight of Elizabeth, and with a wondering face waited for her to come to her place.  But the minister, not glancing up, went sternly on with the paper; and Elizabeth’s gaze was fixed on his face; she had drawn a step away from him; and her hands were pressed over one another.  All at once he uttered an exclamation of dismay, and turned to her, a dread coming into his face as he met her eyes.

“What does it mean?” he gasped.  “Heaven help us, is it true?”

“Oh, it can’t be, it can’t be,” she cried.  “Give me the paper.  I had to show it to you, but now you’ve seen that it must be all false.  Give it to me.  Look, they are coming,” she entreated.  “Think of her, be ready for them.  Oh, burn this.  Can’t you?  Can’t you?” and her eyes devoured him in an agony of pleading.

“Stop!” he said, drawing back his hand.  Then in a moment, “Is any of it true, this wicked jest at a sacred thing?  Was that all so?”

“Yes.”

By this time the scene had become very different from the programme so carefully arranged.  The bride and groom had indeed gone across the room and were standing before the minister.  But the latter, so far from having made any preparations to begin the ceremony, stood with his eyes on the paper, his face more and more pale and perplexed.

“What is it?” cried Master Archdale, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, what does it all mean?” asked the Colonel, advancing toward the minister, and showing his irritation by his frown, his flush, and the abruptness of his speech usually so suave.

“I hardly know myself,” returned Shurtleff looking from one to the other.

“Let us have the ceremony at once, then,” said Master Archdale authoritatively.  “Why should we delay?”

“I cannot, until I have looked into this,” answered the minister in a respectful tone.