Out into the night and the sea the steamer was moving, leaving the wonderful lights of Venice--a vision of an enchanted city--behind, while among the passengers on her decks one group of four persons watched rather silently the lessening radiance. They were all somewhat subdued in feeling by the fierce storm of opposition through which they had passed--a storm that had shaken Aimée to the very center, yet had showed her the absolute necessity of this step. She stood now leaning on Kyrle’s arm, her gentle soul filled with sadness at the thought of the bitterness and anger she had left behind, although beneath the sadness was a consciousness of freedom of release from bondage such as she had never felt before. Presently her spirit would spread its wings like a bird in the sunshine, exulting in this new atmosphere; but now she was silent, and Kyrle, divining what she was thinking, as well as her physical exhaustion after such stress of emotion, uttered himself no word, only pressed close against his heart the little hand resting on his arm. It was Fanny Meredith who said at last, with a sigh of relief: “Well, thank Heaven, it is over, and we are safe; but I feel as if we had _all_ eloped.--Don’t you, Tom?” “I can’t say that I do,” her husband answered, with a laugh. “But, by Jove, they were desperate! The major swore he would lock her up, and I swore that if he did I would break down the door. I should have done it, too, without a moment’s hesitation,” the speaker ended. “Wouldn’t it have been simpler and less sensational to call in the police?” Fanny asked. “The police!” Mr. Meredith scornfully blew out a cloud of cigar-smoke. “What the deuce could Italian police do in such a case? They would probably have arrested everybody, and kept us in Venice until proof could have been given of Aimée’s age, and a lot of other nonsense. Do you suppose the Joscelyns would have hesitated to declare that she was still an infant? No; the simple and direct thing to do was what we did--carry her off by armed force.” “What was it you said to Percy Joscelyn when he followed us to the gondola?” Fanny inquired of Kyrle. “I told him that if he came a step farther I should pitch him into the canal,” that gentleman answered. “Probably he was aware that it would give me sincere pleasure to do it, for he drew back.” “And yet people think that a fortune is a blessing!” said Aimée, with a long, quivering breath. “How gladly they would have let me go--as they did once--if it were not for my money! I felt like casting it to them, and bidding them take the only thing they cared for!” “I am very glad you did not,” said Fanny, practically. “They would have certainly taken it, and you have already cast them far too much. Don’t abuse your fortune, my dear, because the Joscelyns are despicable. Money is a good, a very good thing to have. I only wish you could make Lennox believe it!”