“Who are you?” abruptly demanded the bride, looking curiously at her.

“Sarah Grant,” answered the young woman—­“a shopgirl.”

“Who sent you with this note?”

“A woman who lodges in the same house—­a tall, gaunt, half-crazed looking creature.  She is dangerously ill.”

The girl answered straightforwardly, gazing round her the while in open-eyed admiration.

“Do you know her name?”

“We call her old Miriam; she refuses to tell her name.  I have done little things for her since she has been ill, and she begged me so hard to fetch you this letter that I could not refuse.”

“Do you know its contents?”

“Only that you are expected to return with me.  She told me that she had something to say to you that you would give half your life to hear.”

“Is the house far from this?”

“Yes, miss, a long way; but I came in a carriage.  It is waiting round the corner.  Miriam told me to hurry; that it was a matter of life or death, and she gave me money to pay for the hack.  It was absolutely necessary you should know, she said, before you married any one.”

Mollie mused a moment.  She never thought of doubting all this.  Of course, Miriam knew all about her, and of course it was likely she would wish to tell her on her death-bed.

“I will go,” she said, suddenly.  “Wait one instant.”

She summoned the servant, gave her the message that had caused such consternation, locked the door, and threw over her glittering bridal robes a long water-proof cloak that covered her from head to foot.  Drawing the hood over her head, she stood ready.

“Now,” said Miss Dane, rapidly, “we will not go out by the front door, because I don’t want any one to know I have quitted the house.  Come this way.”

She opened one of the long windows and stepped out on the piazza.  Sarah followed.

Some distance on there was a flight of stairs leading to a paved back-yard.  They descended the stairs, walked down the yard, passed through a little gate, and stood in the street, under the bright night sky.

“Now, Miss Grant,” said Mollie, “where is your carriage?”

“At the corner of the avenue, miss.  This way.”

Two minutes brought them to the corner.  There stood the hack.

Sarah made a motion for Miss Dane to precede her.  Mollie stepped in; the girl followed, closing the door securely after her, and the hack started at a furious pace.

“How dark it is!” exclaimed Mollie, impatiently.  “You should make your driver light up, Miss Grant.”

“There is sufficient light for our work,” a voice answered.

Mollie recoiled with a slight shriek, for it was not the voice of Sarah Grant.

A dark figure started out of the corner on the moment, her hands were grasped, and a handkerchief swiftly and surely bound round her mouth.  It was no longer in her power to raise an alarm.