He was young and ardent; the warm blood of the South, whose flame burns so hotly, fired his veins. He looked at her sitting there so angelically fair in the beautiful moonlight, and knew that he should never love another as he loved this beautiful, innocent child. If she were lost to his future life what profit could he have in wealth and fame? Love and jealousy conquered. He drew her to his side with a passionate clasp, longing to hold her there forever. "Bonnibel," he whispered, "do not be frightened at what I am going to say. I am afraid that they will marry you to some other while I am gone away. Your uncle may persuade you against your will, may even bring force to bear with you. But there is one way in which we can bridge any gulf they may dig between us, darling. Will you marry me secretly to-night? I can leave you more willingly, then, knowing that no power can keep us apart when I come to claim you." "Marry you to-night?" gasped the child. "How can I do that, Leslie?" "Nothing easier, darling. Only a mile and a half from here is the little fishing village of Brandon. We can take your little skiff and go down, be married by the Methodist minister there, and return in a few hours, and then I can leave you without being haunted by a terrible foreboding of losing you forever. They will think you are asleep in your room at home, and no one will miss you or be the wiser for the precious little secret that we will keep sacredly until I come to claim my little wife. Bonnibel, will you make this great sacrifice for love? It will make our future happiness secure." "Yes," she whispered, without a moment's thought. CHAPTER V. The fairy little bark, the _Bonnibel_, swept blithely out into the moonlighted waves. Bonnibel tied her lace handkerchief over her head, and wrapped the shawl about her shoulders. Somehow her heart began to grow lighter. This moonlight flitting seemed so sweet and romantic. Her dark-eyed lover sitting opposite lightly swaying the oars looked handsome as a demi-god to her partial eyes. She trusted him implicitly. "The king can do no wrong," was her motto. "You shall never regret this step, never, my darling," Leslie Dane kept saying to her over and over, as if to soothe his conscience, which perhaps reproached him. And Bonnibel answered with a smile every time, "I never expect to regret it, Leslie, dear." His rapid strokes of the oar soon brought them to their destination. Brandon was a poor little fishing village consisting only of the rude huts of the fishermen, a little Methodist chapel, and a little parsonage down by the shore rather neater than the rest of the shanties. Here lived the aged minister and his kind old wife. Thither the young artist directed his steps with Bonnibel clinging to his arm. Fortunately they met no one on the way, and almost before they knew it they stood in the shabby "best room," which served the good man for study, library and parlor.