“I may probably have to visit London as well as Castle Marling.  How bright the moon looks rising there, Barbara!”

“So bright—­that or the sky—­that I saw your secret,” answered she.  “Piano!  Plate!  What can you want with either, Archibald?”

“They are for East Lynne,” he quietly replied.

“Oh, for the Carews.”  And Barbara’s interest in the item was gone.

They turned into the road just below the grove, and reached it.  Mr. Carlyle held the gate open for Barbara.

“You will come in and say good-night to mamma.  She was saying to-day what a stranger you have made of yourself lately.”

“I have been busy; and I really have not the time to-night.  You must remember me to her instead.”  And cordially shaking her by the hand, he closed the gate.

It was two or three mornings after the departure of Mr. Carlyle that Mr. Dill appeared before Miss Carlyle, bearing a letter.  She was busy regarding the effect of some new muslin curtains, just put up, and did not pay attention to him.

“Will you please take the letter, Miss Cornelia?  The postman left it in the office with ours.  It is from Mr. Archibald.”

“Why, what has he got to write to me about?” retorted Miss Corny.  “Does he say when he is coming home?”

“You had better see, Miss Cornelia.  Mine does not.”

“CASTLE MARLING, May 1st.

“MY DEAR CORNELIA—­I was married this morning to Lady Isabel Vane, and hasten briefly to acquaint you with the fact.  I will write you more fully to-morrow or the next day, and explain all things.

“Your ever affectionate brother,

“ARCHIBALD CARLYLE.”

“It is a hoax,” was the first gutteral sound that escaped from Miss Carlyle’s throat when speech came to her.

Mr. Dill only stood like a stone image.

“It is a hoax, I say,” raved Miss Carlyle.  “What are you standing there for, like a gander on one leg?” she reiterated, venting her anger upon the unoffending man. “Is it a hoax or not?”

“I am overdone with amazement, Miss Corny.  It is not a hoax; I have had a letter, too.”

“It can’t be true—­it can’t be true.  He had no more thought of being married when he left here, three days ago, than I have.”

“How can we tell that, Miss Corny?  How are we to know he did not go to be married?  I fancy he did.”

“Go to be married!” shrieked Miss Corny, in a passion.  “He would not be such a fool.  And to that fine lady-child!  No—­no.”

“He has sent this to be put in the county journals,” said Mr. Dill, holding forth a scrap of paper.  “They are married, safe enough.”

Miss Carlyle took it and held it before her:  her hand was cold as ice, and shook as if with palsy.

“MARRIED.—­On the 1st inst., at Castle Marling, by the chaplain to the Earl of Mount Severn, Archibald Carlyle, Esquire, of East Lynne, to the Lady Isabel Mary Vane, only child of William, late Earl of Mount Severn.”