know what you are going to say," he added, as Percy stepped nearer to
him. "Will you hear me in my own defense, and then decide whether I am
the greatest scoundrel living, or the best friend you ever had?"

He put the question kindly, with something that was at once grave and
tender in his look and manner. The extraordinary composure with which
he acted and spoke had its tranquilizing influence over Percy. He felt
himself surprised into giving Bervie a hearing.

"I will tell you first what I have done," the Captain proceeded, "and
next why I did it. I have taken it on myself, Mr. Linwood, to make an
alteration in your wedding arrangements. Instead of being married at
Dartford church, you will be married (if you see no objection) at the
chapel of the embassy in Paris, by my old college friend the chaplain."

This was too much for Percy's self-control. "Your audacity is beyond
belief," he broke out.

"And beyond endurance," Mr. Bowmore added. "Understand this, sir!
Whatever your defense may be, I object, under any circumstances, to be
made the victim of a trick."

"You are the victim of your own obstinate refusal to profit by a plain
warning," Bervie rejoined. "At the eleventh hour, I entreated you, and
I entreated Mr. Linwood, to provide for your own safety; and I spoke in
vain."

Percy's patience gave way once more.

"To use your own language," he said, "I have still to decide whether
you have behaved toward me like a scoundrel or a friend. You have said
nothing to justify yourself yet."

"Very well put!" Mr. Bowmore chimed in. "Come to the point, sir! My
daughter's reputation is in question."

"Miss Bowmore's reputation is not in question for a single instant,"
Bervie answered. "My sister has been the companion of her journey from
first to last."

"Journey?" Mr. Bowmore repeated, indignantly. "I want to know, sir, what
the journey means. As an outraged father, I ask one plain question. Why
did you run away with my daughter?"

Bervie took a slip of paper from his pocket, and handed it to Percy with
a smile.

It was a copy of the warrant which Justice Bervie's duty had compelled
him to issue for the "arrest of Orlando Bowmore and Percy Linwood."
There was no danger in divulging the secret now. British warrants were
waste-paper in France, in those days.

"I ran away with the bride," Bervie said coolly, "in the certain
knowledge that you and Mr. Bowmore would run after me. If I had not
forced you both to f