and that above; is it hers? He throws
himself from his horse; his hour has come, hers too; with the license
and minister, his own adoration--and she must love him too!--he will
win! Show him the way to her! She is his forever now! His? My God! had
I not reason to cry, "In God's name, save her, Frank!" He reaches Mrs.
Carter's room, and triumphantly throws the license on her table. He is
ready now; where is his bride?

Some one meets him. "Will!"

The story is told; she is not to be won by force; she has appealed to
the minister; he has carried the jest too far. The strong man reels; he
falls on the bed in his bridal array in agony too great for tears. I
dare not ask what followed; they tell me it was awful. What madness and
folly, to dream of forcing her to marry him! Why, if she had loved him,
the high-handed proceeding would have roused the lion of her spirit! He
is no mate for her. He has but one thought, and at last words come.
"Miriam! Miriam! Call her, for the love of God!" One word! one look!
Oh, she will take pity on him in his misery. Let her come for one
instant! she cannot be so cruel! she will marry him if only to save him
from death, or worse! And fortunate it was that he was not armed, one
of the two would have died; perhaps both. The heartbroken prayer goes
on. The exulting "Mine! Mine!" has changed to the groan of despair,
"Miriam! for the love of God! come to me!"

And where is the bride? Gibbes has her caged in the next room, this one
where I am now lying. He has advised her not to appear; to go to bed
and say no more. Sent to bed like a baby on her wedding night! She says
that she laughed aloud when the door closed on her. She laughing in
here, he groaning in there, it is to be hoped they each drowned the
voice of the other.... The minister said good-night. He disclaimed all
feeling of pique; he felt chiefly for the young lady--and the
disappointed groom. (Ouf!) I sent to ask Will to come to me alone for a
moment; no, he could not see me; write to him.

Slowly, as though an aged, infirm, tottering man, we heard him
descending the steps. How different from the step that carried him up!
We, conscience-stricken, sat within, with doors closed. He was off. He
has again mounted his horse, and the broken-hearted man, hardly less
cruel than the expectant bridegroom, dashes the rowel in his side and
disappears like a whirlwind.

* * * * *

I can fancy mother's an