The great hall clock chimed the hour of ten, and her heart beat faster, for she said to herself that her lover was nearing the trysting place and she had not much time to spare. "Good-by, papa," she murmured, turning for an instant and looking up at his lighted window. "Good-by, my stepmamma," she whispered. "You have always hated me and wished me out of the way. I am going now, and you will rejoice. Good-by, Claire," she added, as her eyes wandered upward to the little lighted window in the western wing. "You never hated me. You always loved me as though we had indeed been sisters. Good-by, kind old family servants. You will all miss me, I know, but I am going to happiness and love. What fate could be better?" She waited some moments at the trysting place ere she heard the sound of crunching wheels on the snow. A moment later she heard the welcome voice saying: "Faynie, where are you?" The next instant she was folded in a pair of strong, masculine arms. But as the owner of them touched her lips with his own Faynie had started back with a terrible feeling of faintness rushing over her. For the first time her lover's breath was strong with the odor of brandy. And the voice, which was always so gentle, kind and endearing, was muttering something about "the cursed darkness of the night." No wonder the girl's soul revolted, and that she changed her mind suddenly about the elopement, which was to make or mar her young life. And what she heard after he forced her into the coach only added to the terror which had grown into her heart against him, and when she made that flying leap from the coach, her one cry to Heaven was that she might escape the man whom she had but so lately madly adored, but whom she now so thoroughly abhorred. CHAPTER V. "CAN YOU PERFORM THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY AT ONCE, REVEREND SIR?" It was the hour of eleven by the village clock. Eleven sounded from the old clock on the mantel. The fire burned low in the grate of Rev. Dr. Warner's study. The air was growing chill in the room. Still, the old pastor, who had looked after the village flock for nearly half a century, heeded neither the time nor the chill, he was so intent upon the sermon he was writing for the morrow. He had scarcely concluded the last line ere he heard a well-known tap upon the door. He smiled as he arose from his chair, crossed the room and flung open the door. He knew well whom he should find standing there, old Adam, the village sexton and grave digger, who always stopped when he saw a light in the study window. "Come in, Adam," said the reverend gentleman; "come up to the fire and warm yourself; it's a wild night to be about. Has any one sent you here for me?"