“Nothing dares to hamper us,” he declared. “Now, beloved.” So they were married, in the little bare office of the justice of the peace, with a clerk from the court called in to witness that they were made man and wife by law. Gregory slipped the “circlet of gold” on the finger of his wife and as he made answers to the questions put to him, his eyes were on Freda as if he spoke to her alone, as if to her alone was he making this pledge of faith and loyalty and love. Freda did not look at him. For the moment she was fulfilling her pledge to life and Gregory was its instrument. Then they were out again in the sunlight, choked with emotion, silent. Vaguely they walked back to the hotel. It was mid-afternoon. “Shall we stay at the hotel?” asked Gregory. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all. Only it would be nicer in the country, wouldn’t it?” “There should be inns,” said Gregory, frowning for the first time that day as he looked at the square, ugly, frame building which was before them, a knot of curious loafers on the porch. “In Ireland we have inns. They’re somehow different.” “I truly don’t care where we are,” smiled Freda and for that his eyes glanced down to hers with admiration. None the less he went to inspect the little rooms of the hotel and came down depressed. “I don’t want you to go up there, darling. Let’s see if there isn’t some other place.” The hotel keeper, clerk and manager, reflected on the inquiry which Gregory tried to make polite. “Of course there’s the Roadside Inn if you’re looking for style. Five miles out. Jitney take you there.” “I know that place,” said Freda, “That’s lovely, Gregory. Oh, I think you’d like it. Only it may be noisy. They dance there at night.” The proprietor misunderstood. “So far as dancing goes here we dance here till midnight too,” he said, full of pride. Gregory laughed. “Well, sir, we think we’d like to be in the country to-day. We’ll try the inn you so kindly speak of.” The jitney ride gave them further sense of adventure and when they stopped in front of the little inn with its quiet air and its stiff little flowerbeds aglow with red geraniums, they were enchanted. Their room pleased them too. A little low-ceilinged room with bright chintzes and painted furniture and a casement window that stood a little open. The colored man who played the fiddle at night, carried up their bags. When he had left them, Gregory kissed his wife. Ten minutes later they went down the brown road where the dust lay soft under their feet. White birches and young elders all fresh and green with early summer foliage surrounded them. Then from the road a little trodden path slipped back into the woods. “Shall we try it?” The woods closed behind them. The little path led a faltering way between trees where long streams of sunlight fell. Under their feet grass rustled. Branches leaned to touch them. All the woods seemed to know that lovers were passing and whispered tremulously.