"Oh, Bernardine!" he cried, throwing prudence to the winds, forgetting in that moment everything save his mad love for her--"oh, my darling! you are _not_ alone in the world! _I_ love you! Marry me, Bernardine, and save me from the future spreading out darkly before me--marry me within the hour--_now_! Don't refuse me. We are near a church now. The rector lives next door. We will alight here, and in five minutes you will be all my own to comfort, to care for, to protect and idolize, to worship as I would an angel from Heaven!" He scarcely waited for her to consent. He stopped the coach, and fairly lifted her from the vehicle in his strong arms. "Oh, Doctor Gardiner, is it for the best?" she cried, clinging to him with death-cold hands. "Are you _sure_ you want me?" The answer that he gave her, as he bent his fair, handsome head, must have satisfied her. Loving him as she did, how could she say him nay? They entered the parsonage, and when they emerged from it, ten minutes later, Bernardine was Jay Gardiner's wedded wife. And that was the beginning of the tragedy. "I shall not take you to the scene of the fire just now, my darling," he decided. "The sight would be too much for you. In a day or two, when you have become more reconciled to your great loss, I will take you there." "You know best, Doctor Gardiner," she sobbed, as they re-entered the vehicle. "I will do whatever you think is best." "Where to, sir?" asked the driver, touching his cap. "We will go to Central Park," he answered; then turning to Bernardine, he added: "When we reach there, we will alight and dismiss this man. We will sit down on one of the benches, talk matters over, and decide what is best to be done--where you would like to go for your wedding-trip; but, my love, my sweetheart, my life, you must not call me 'Doctor Gardiner.' To you, from this time on, I am Jay, your own fond husband!" CHAPTER XXX. Jay Gardiner had taken fate in his own hands. He had married the girl he loved, casting aside every barrier that lay between them, even to facing the wrath, and, perhaps, the world's censure in deserting the girl to whom he was betrothed, but whom he did not love. He was deeply absorbed in thinking about this as the cab stopped at the park entrance. "Come, my darling!" exclaimed Jay, kissing fondly the beautiful face upturned to him, "we will alight and talk over our plans for the future." She clung to him, as he with tender care, lifted her from the vehicle. He was her husband, this grand, kingly, fair-haired man, at whom the women passing looked so admiringly. She could hardly realize it, hardly dare believe it, but for the fact that he was calling her his darling bride with every other breath. He found her a seat beneath a wide-spreading tree, where the greensward was like velvet beneath their feet, and the air was redolent with the scent of flowers that rioted in the sunshine hard by.