They went in then and sat down to a dinner of which both were able to partake more enjoyably than either had supposed possible. "Charles, isn’t there going to be an awful time when we get there?" whispered Betty, as they passed out to the carriages. "I hope not, Betty," said Charles, with a solemn light in his eyes that made the girl wonder. Charles took his seat beside his father with hopefulness, and all that long afternoon the music of nature rang on; but now to both men the dirge was almost lost in the swelling and sounding of the wedding march. CHAPTER VIII All the afternoon, Madam Winthrop had steadily refused to converse about her oldest son. The party were nearing the edge of the town where the Van Rensselaers lived. Twice Charles had endeavored to bring his mother’s mind to the subject, and once his father had said: "Now, Mother, it is absolutely necessary that you put aside your attitude and let me tell you all about this matter." But to all advances she was adamant. "I shall never allow you to say such wicked things about my son," declared the old lady, rising from her seat and attempting to get out of the coach. They were compelled to give it up and trust to developments. The stars were coming out when they entered the village streets. The father called to his daughters to wait a moment, and he stopped the coach horses. Turning around in his seat, he faced his wife. "Janet," said he, and his voice was firm as when he was a young man, "it is best that the family stop at the inn while Charles and I go on to the house and make the family acquainted with the truth. I wish you and Martha and the girls to stop here and wait until our return." The old lady looked ahead impatiently, as if she did not see her husband. "I shall do nothing of the kind, Mr. Winthrop," she said. "You may as well save time by driving on." The anger was rising in the old gentleman’s face. He had been defied for years and had borne it with fortitude and a measure of amusement. He had always felt that he could assert himself when he chose. But now he had chosen, and apparently he had been mistaken all these years. His wife would not obey. It was mortifying, and especially before his son and his sister. He turned sharply to Martha, sitting frightened and meek in the dark corner of the coach. "Martha, get out," he commanded in a tone she had never disobeyed. Martha proceeded to obey hastily. "Don’t you do any such foolish thing, Martha Winthrop. You stay right where you are. I won’t have any scenes," said Madam Winthrop. Martha paused and put her mitted hand on her heart. "Martha, this is my carriage, and you are my sister, and I tell you to get out." Martha had not heard that voice from her brother’s lips for forty years. She got out.