The duke got out of the chaise, and passed through the little assemblage of villagers who were standing there discussing the verdict of the jury.  He hurried at once to the bar-room to inquire if any letter or telegram had come for him.

“Na, naething o’ the sort,” replied the landlord, who, seeing the disappointment expressed upon the duke’s face, added:  “But, under favor, your grace, there’s time eneuch yet.  Your grace hae na been twenty-four hours awa’ fra Lunnun.”

Without waiting to answer the host, the young duke hurried out, and walked rapidly off to the telegraph office, which was at the railway station.

“Ye see yon lad?” said the landlord to his wife.  “He hanna been a day fra his bride, and yet he expects to hae a letter or a message frae her every minute.  Aweel we hae a’ been fules in our time!”

So saying the philosophical host of the Arondelle Arms gave his mind to the service of his numerous customers, who had come from the trial at Banff very hungry and thirsty, and now filled the bar-room with their persons, and all the air with their complaints.

They were not at all satisfied with the verdict.  They had had a murder, and they had a right to have a hanging.  They had been defrauded of their prospect of this second entertainment, and they were not well pleased.

Meanwhile, the duke hurried off to the telegraph office, to see if by any chance a telegram had been received there for him and detained.

When he entered the little den, he found the operator at work.  He forebore to interrupt the man until the clicking of the wires ceased.  Then he asked: 

“Can you tell if there is any message here for me?—­the Duke of Hereward,” added his grace, seeing the puzzled look of the operator, who was a stranger in the country.

“Yes, your grace.  It has only just now come,” respectfully answered the young man, as he drew out a long, narrow strip of thick, white paper, upon which the message had been stamped by the instrument, and proceeded to select an official envelope in which to inclose it.

“Never mind that.  Give it to me at once,” said the duke, taking the strip from the hand of the operator and hastily perusing it.

The message ran thus: 

“OLD CHURCH COURT, KENSINGTON, LONDON,

“October 31st, 3 P.M.

“To HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF HEREWARD, Arondelle Arms, Lone, N.B.  She is found.  Pray come to London immediately.  It is important.

“J.A.  SETTER.”

CHAPTER XXV.

WHO WAS FOUND!

“She is found.”

“Who is found?  The lost bride, or that mysterious messenger who was with the fugitive an hour before her flight, who was suspected to have lured her away, and who might be able to give a clew to her whereabouts?  Good Heaven! why could not the detective have sent a definite message?” thought the duke, as he studied the telegram.