"I will do whatever you wish me," said May, trustfully, and she put her hand in his. A slight change passed over John's face. "You are not happy at home, May, are you?" he asked. "I am most unhappy. Mrs. Churchill makes me miserable about that wretched Mr. Henderson." "It is all right then; when can you start for town--to-morrow?" "To-morrow?" repeated May, startled. "Yes, the sooner the better, for then the sooner I can join you. I will write to the Miss Websters at once, and give you their address--and May, I have brought fifty pounds with me for you." "Oh! I can not take that," answered May, with a sudden blush. "My dear one, you must! You are my little cousin, you know, until you are my wife, and my little cousin must pay her way. Here it is, May, and do not be foolish. Now what train will you start by to-morrow? I can not, I am afraid, see you off on account of the confounded gossip it would cause." "Oh, no, you must not do that. I will go in what train I can get quickly away by--and you will join me, John?" she added, wistfully. "I swear it," said John Temple, earnestly, "and I will write to you. But be cautious, dear May, for both our sakes. This is the Websters' address. Drive straight from the station to their house." "Yes--and John, oh, John!--you do not repent liking me--you do care for me?" "I care for you with all my heart and soul, May! I love you as deeply as a man can love a woman; do not, at least, doubt my love." He took her in his arms and kissed her again and again, and with tenderest words of affection at length they parted; May returning at once to Woodside to make her preparations for leaving it, and John Temple going back to the Hall. On her road home May determined what to do. She would take her young brother Hal partly into her confidence, and tell him she was about to run away from home on account of her stepmother's treatment. But when she arrived at the farm she found that a letter from her father awaited her, which had been sent by hand. This letter informed her that on account of the length of the drive to and from Castle Hill, that he and his wife had determined to remain there all night, but would return on the following afternoon or evening. This made everything much easier for May. She said nothing to Hal that night, but packed up her small belongings ready for an early start in the morning. Then when the boys had gone to bed she went to her own room, and stood there looking wistfully around. She had slept here in her childhood; she had slept here in her blooming young maidenhood, and she knew that after the night was past she would sleep here no more. She was going to take a leap in the dark; a leap into the unknown, but there was no fear in her heart, for "perfect love casteth out fear." She knelt down before she went to bed, and prayed for John Temple; prayed that there should be no change in their love in all their future lives. CHAPTER XVII. DISAPPEARED.