She rose to her feet. Her tears were over, her great grief was lightened, but now a curious and inexplicable desire took possession of her. She would not fail Isaac Dent. If she had broken every other promise she would at least keep this one. She would marry him tomorrow, and perhaps her mother's God would help her to be a good wife to him. But she would--she must--go to Liverpool tonight. She had money enough in her pocket to take her there; she looked at the coins, going close to the window to see them the better in the moonlight, and saw that she had sufficient to purchase a single third-class fare. How was she to get back to Warrington in the morning? How was she to meet Dent at the registrar's office? She did not know; she felt also that she did not care. Already her marriage with Dent seemed to be removed into a dim and intangible future. She would marry him,--oh, yes--but when and how she did not know, she did not care. She could scarcely bring her thoughts to bear on the great and terrible subject which an hour ago had filled her whole horizon. Liverpool, the great city, was drawing her, as though it was the voice of Will himself. She rose, brushed out her hair, plaited it, and wound it in a great coronet round her beautiful head, washed her face and hands, wrapped her mother's shawl tidily round her, and ran downstairs. At the door she met Jenny. "Good-bye, dear," she said in a gentle tone. And she stooped and kissed the little round-faced girl. "Why, Bet, are you mad?" said Jenny. "Where are you going? How spry you look! And your eyes are so bright! Oh, Bet, Bet! have you come to your senses? Are you going to break your promise to Dent?" "It is not that," said Bet. "I'll be here tomorrow morn. I won't fail Isaac. I'll see you again to-morrow morning, Jenny, but I must go to Liverpool to-night. My heart draws me--I must go. Good-bye, Jenny--good-bye, dear." Jenny looked after the tall, stately figure. "Well, this _is_ a rum go," she muttered. "And ef she don't hurry she'll be late. The last train goes at eight o'clock--she'll lose it ef she don't run." But Bet did not lose the train. CHAPTER XXX. Isaac Dent did indeed feel himself a triumphant man. If such a nature as his could possibly know anything of love, he had something which he called by that name for the handsome girl whom he had deceived, and whose happiness he had wrecked. His powers of loving, however, might have been described as uncertain, dubious, and absolutely unworthy of so high and sacred a name. But there was no doubt at all with regard to his powers of revenge, or as to his cunning and double dealing.