The Argosy — page 331: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Parkwater. 317 The scene that ensued was one never yet witnessed in that quiet little church ; but Mr. Castlerosse failed to show any legal grounds for delaying the marriage. “‘ His father will be here directly,” he screamed ; ‘he'll be here with a strait-waistcoat ; he’s coming by the first train.” Frederick Lyvett took a high tone. He dared Mr. Castlerosse to shew just or legal cause for his interruption, and he dared the clergy- man to stop the ceremony. Mr. Balfour, with a sigh, opened his book again, and Mr. Castlerosse looked vainly out for Mr. Lyvett. There was time yet. How was it that Mr. Lyvett had not come? Where was the special train ? How was it, indeed, that Mr. Lyvett had not come? On the previous evening, the family and servants having retired to rest, for it was Mr. Lyvett’s safe and good old custom to be up /as¢ in the house, as it had been his father’s before him, he and his wife were preparing to follow them, when Mrs. Lyvett spoke. “James, I do believe Frederick has not come in!” “« My dear, I told you that Fred went out yesterday for some days.” “Oh, I understood you to say until to-night only. Where is he gone?” “T did not ask him. He has taken his own course lately with little reference to me. Somewhere in the cotntry. I expect Charley Castle- rosse is with him, for Rowley saw them in a cab together, with a port- manteau or two upon it. They are off on some expedition, I suppose. Fred has lately been out of London a good bit: and I am rather glad that it should be so,” added Mr. Lyvett, significantly. He had no idea that somebody else was also out of it. He had put out the lights and taken up the bed-candlestick, when a tremendous peal at the hall-bell echoed through the house. ‘What can that be?” exclaimed Mrs. Lyvett. “Some drunken fellows passing. I wish I was behind them.” But there followed a second peal, louder than the first. ‘‘ Don’t go down,” cried Mrs. Lyvett. ‘Look from the window.” Mr. Lyvett took the advice, opened it and leaned out. “Who is that ?” “Ts this J. Lyvett, Esquire’s?” Yes.” “‘ Telegraphic dispatch, sir.” ‘’Who from?” . Don’t know.” Ty Mr. Lyvett went down, and returned with the dispatch in his hand. He read it by the light of the bedroom candle, his wife looking over him. Surely such a message was never sent by telegraph before: but Mr. Castlerosse was not collected when he wrote it. “ Fred’s down here: going to be married to-morrow at eight o'clock GONMGIOO SS (CO) 1 i ine ee a i, a