As the clock struck half-past eight, Eliza ran up the steps and into the room, holding against her shoulder a branch of titi pearled with bloom. At sight of the extraordinary loveliness of the figure standing as if frozen, she burst into tears. "My beautiful--my baby! What does all this mean? Your father has forced you to----" "Hush, hush. My father was as much astonished as you are. I feared you could not come in time, and here is a note, in which I said all that I can tell you. Don't scold me, and don't cry; wait till I am gone." She gave her the note and kissed her cheek, where tears were streaming. "Oh, my baby, give me the positive assurance that this step is voluntary--that you love Mr. Herriott." "Entirely voluntary. My supreme wish is to go with Mr. Herriott. He is the noblest man in all the world." "Yes, but you have not just found that out; you have always known it. Now, do you love him? I am afraid you do not; and, my baby, marriage without loving a husband is----" Eglah laid a hand over Eliza's lips. "Father is coming for me. I want to wear some titi, because you brought it to me. Pin two clusters under the folds of lace here, just over your baby's heart. Now, kiss Eglah Kent good-bye, and leave me with father while you take off your hat and dry your eyes." "My dear, are you ready?" "Wait a few minutes for Ma-Lila. Father, if I can not persuade Mr. Noel to abandon his journey, you must be sure to meet me when he telegraphs you and leaves me. I am inexpressibly unhappy, but if you will forget the last three years, and love me as in the dear old days, it will comfort and gladden me." The clock chimed nine. Near the foot of the stairway Mr. Herriott waited, and when he came forward the almost unearthly beauty of Eglah's face made his heart throb with vague apprehension. It wore a rapt expression of supreme exaltation, as if a somnambulist walked with eyes fixed on some goal beyond a yawning black chasm. Drawing her arm from her father's, she stepped to Mr. Herriott's side and laid her hand in his. CHAPTER XXI The fast vestibuled train, forty minutes late, swung northward at a speed that kept the car in a quiver. There were few passengers, asleep in their berths, and Mr. Herriott had secured the drawing-room. It was new, luxurious in appointments, and to the end of the brass rod supporting the lamp in the centre he had fastened a great sheaf of white carnations, sent by Mrs. Whitfield. Closing the sliding door that opened into the sleeper, he sat down beside the figure clad in a dark-blue cloth suit. "I am so insanely happy I dare not pinch or shake myself, lest I should wake and find it only a heavenly dream." He took one of her remarkably beautiful hands, which he had always admired, and where he had placed a broad, heavy band of gold four hours before. Spreading the cold fingers on his warm palm, he lifted them against his cheek, brushed them with his mustache.