r," she said.

Lane caught her hand and held it, following her to the end of the
hall, where she opened a door and peeped into the sitting-room.

"Mother, is dad home?" she asked.

"No--he's out, and such a bad night! Who's with you, Mel?"

"Daren Lane."

"Oh, is he up again? I'm glad. Bring him in.... Why, Mel, you've your
hat and coat on!"

"Yes, mother dear. We're going out for a while."

"On such a night! What for?"

"Daren and I are going to--to be married.... Good-bye. No more till we
come back."

As one in a dream, Lane led Mel out in the whirling white pall of
snow. It seemed to envelop them. It was mysterious and friendly, and
silent.

They crossed the bridge, and Lane again listened for the river voices
that always haunted here. Were they only murmurings of swift waters?
Beyond the bridge lay the railroad station. A few dim lights shone
through the white gloom. Lane found a taxi.

They were silent during the ride through the lonely streets. When the
taxi stopped at the address given the driver, Lane whispered a word to
Mel, jumped out and ran up the steps of a house and rang the bell.

"Is Doctor McCullen at home?" he inquired of the maid who answered the
ring. He was informed the minister had just gone to his room.

"Will you ask him to come down upon a matter of importance?"

The maid invited him inside. In a few moments a tall, severe-looking
man wearing a long dressing-coat entered the parlor.

"Doctor McCullen, I regret disturbing you, but my business is urgent.
I want to be married at once. The lady is outside in a car. May I
bring her in?"

"Ah! I seem to remember you. Isn't your name Lane?"

"Yes."

"Who is the woman you want to marry?"

"Miss Iden."

"Miss Iden! You mean Joshua Iden's daughter?"

"I do."

The minister showed a grave surprise. "Aren't you rather late in
making amends? No, I will not marry you until I investigate the
matter," he replied, coldly.

"You need not trouble yourself," replied Lane curtly, and went out.

The instant opposition stimulated Lane, and he asked the driver,
"John, do you know where we can find a preacher?" "Yis, sor. Mr.
Peters of the Methodist Church lives round the corner," answered the
man.

"Drive on, then."

Lane got inside the taxi and slammed the door. "Mel, he refused to
marry us."

Mel was silent, but the pressure of her hand answered him.

"Daren, the car has stopped," said Mel, presently.

Lane got out, walked up t