"It--it--oh, Harry, it's that Mr. Derby!" she whispered. "I'd know
his voice in a thousand."
"The devil!" he whispered intensely, gripping her hand.
Mr. Derby was saying encouragingly: "There is the church, Mr. Van
Trader. Brace up. We seem to be the first to arrive."
"It's much farther away than you think," growled Mr. Van Truder. "I
can't see the lights in the window."
"There are no lights yet. We are ahead of them. I'll try the door."
The young minister kicked the mud from his shoes as he went up the
steps with the lantern. He tried the door vigorously, and then,
holding the lantern high, surveyed the surroundings. Mr. Van Truder,
bundled up like a motorman, stood below shivering--but with joy.
"This is a great night for an affair of this kind," he quaked. "By
George, I feel twenty years younger. I believe I could turn
handsprings."
"I wouldn't if I were you. Don't forget your somersault over that log
back there, and your splendid headspin in the mud puddle. It's past
nine o'clock. Joe's cousin was to be here at 8.45. Wonder what keeps
him. Joe will be here himself in a jiffy. Dear me, what a dreadful
night they have chosen for a wedding!"
Windomshire whispered in horror to the girl beside him: "Good Lord,
Anne, they're following us.
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