Dawn braced herself to endure the awful uncertainty that her question had put into tangible form, and Charles, as he took hold of the little, trembling hand once more with a reassuring pressure, sought in his mind for something to say which should calm her fears and at the same time not enlighten the driver as to their subject of conversation. "Don’t worry," he said in a tone that tried to be light and gay. "I’ll explain it all as soon as we get home. Meantime, do you want to be told where we are?" and he launched into a voluble description of the people who dwelt along the road. Dawn understood, and kept silent except for a monosyllable now and then, to keep up appearances before the driver, and presently the coach halted again before the gate of another farm-house, where the gleaming candles from the many-paned windows testified to the comfort of the inhabitants. To their relief, the driver jumped down again to deliver a big package, and they had another moment to talk. "Wasn’t I married at all, then? Tell me quick, please," she pleaded, the minute the driver had left them. "Yes, but not to Harrington," he said gravely. He had not yet decided how he ought to tell her or whether he had not better wait until they were at home, lest it make her ill. It seemed so strange for her to talk in this way. He paused an instant, and looked keenly into her face, but the light from the coach lantern did not shine in the right way for him to see her clearly, and it was dark now. He did not see the wave of relief that swept over her anxious face. "Oh!" she gasped, as if a great burden had suddenly been lifted from her and she could breathe the free air again. "Oh!" And for a minute she could think of nothing else save that she was free from the man she had come to dread almost more than death. How it came about, or what else might have happened, must stand in abeyance until she could take in this great, soul-reviving truth. She was not married to Harrington Winthrop! Charles waited an instant, and then, seeing that the driver would soon be back, and that Dawn was not going to ask a question to help him on, he spoke again. "Don’t you remember, Dawn"—his voice lingered over the name, the first time he had used it, and it went through her heart with a wonderful thrill—"don’t you remember that you and I were married this morning?" "Oh, was it you?" Dawn’s face shone up at him out of the darkness, but he dared not interpret the look. The driver suddenly jumped up on the seat and started the horses on again, but Dawn clasped her hands close about his arm and clung to him in the darkness, her whole soul surging with gladness. He held her arm close to him within his own, but his heart was beating anxiously to know what effect this would have upon her, and whether she remembered now. At last she ventured the question—for how could the driver attach any significance to such simple words: "Are you sure?"