“Why—­you surprise me very much!  When was the subpoena served upon you?” inquired the dowager.

“In a chance recounter at the police-office, where I went to find the detective, and where I also found a sheriff’s officer holding a subpoena for me, which he was about to send across the channel by a special messenger—­supposing me to be in Paris.  So you see, my dear Lady Belgrade, my wedding tour would have been stopped at Paris, if not nearer.”

“That is well; for now, if the wedding tour is delayed, it will be known to be a legal necessity, which in no way reflects upon the wedding party.  And now, my dear Duke, since you consent to stay all night, let me advise you to retire to rest.  You will find your valet waiting your orders in the cedar suite of rooms, to which I had your dressing case and boxes taken.”

“Thanks, Lady Belgrade.  Your ladyship anticipates everything.”

“I certainly anticipated the necessity of your remaining here all night, as soon as I found that you could not leave London.  And now, Duke, I must really send you to bed.  I am exhausted.  I must lie down, even if I do not sleep,” said the dowager, as she arose and touched the bell.

The Duke of Hereward raised her hand to his lips, bowed, and left the room.

Lady Belgrade followed his example.

And the weary groom of the chambers entered, in answer to the bell, to turn off the gas and fasten up the rooms.

The young duke knew where to find the cedar suite—­a sumptuous set of apartments finished and fitted up in the costly and fragrant wood which gave them their name.

He found his servant waiting in the dressing-room.

His grace’s valet was no fine gentleman from Paris, as full of accomplishments as of vices; but a simple and honest young man from the estate.  The extra gravity which young James Kerr put into his manner of waiting, alone testified of the reverential sympathy he felt for his beloved master.

The duke threw off the travelling coat that he had assumed for his journey and had worn up to this moment; and he took the wadded silk dressing gown, handed him by his valet, and having put it on, he dropped into an easy resting-chair, and ordered Kerr to lower the gas and then leave the room for the night.

The young Duke of Hereward did not retire to bed that night.  As soon as he found himself alone in the half-darkened rooms, he arose from his chair and began to walk restlessly up and down the floor, relieving the pent-up anguish of his bosom by such deep groans as had required all his self-control to suppress while he was in the presence of others.

Thus walking and groaning in great agony of mind, he passed the few remaining dark hours of the morning.

At daylight he sank exhausted into his easy-chair.  But even then he neither “slumbered nor slept,” but passed the time in waiting and longing for the rising sun, that he might go out and renew his search for his lost bride.