all the world like a broken man. If there was one word to bring Sir Nicolas Steele to his senses, it was mention of Margaret King, and the trouble that had come with her.
"Hildebrand, Hildebrand," said he, "’tis a mortal unlucky man I am, for sure. To think that Heresford of all others should be here in Derbyshire, and me wanting three days to my marriage! What we're to do, Heaven knows!"
"It's late to talk of it," said I, "for, if he's coming, he'll be here with the morning—and we'll be on the road before this time to-morrow. Let's hope for the best, sir. It's just possible there was nothing in the other telegram to set him thinking."
"Is that likely?" he asked eagerly.
"It should not be," said I; "my brother's no fool, and this is no mistake of his. But he wouldn't have looked for Heresford of all others to read what was meant for me. What I'd better do, sir, is to go down to the village at once and get the other telegram. You, meanwhile, put a good face on it. We shall want all that before we've done."
"That's true," said he, in a very melancholy voice, "but I'd have given a thousand to have pulled this affair off. She's a sweet little woman, for sure. Bedad, 'tis the devil's own luck that's with us, upon my life!"
"Indeed, and it is, sir," said I, "and our own fault, too, I'm thinking. It was never my idea that you should try to get Lord Heresford out of Derbyshire."
