She did not demur, and they went away, leaving her before a superb crucifix, which seemed to speak of the country for which she sighed. The argument between the good father and the equally good sportsman was both long and at times explosive. "Nothing easier," said the priest, "than to take her back to London and be married in three days' time." "Nothing more impossible to do any such thing," urged Master Harry, who thought that he knew the patient. She would never go to London, and if she were left alone in an hotel at Brighton, he would not answer for her. Had she been an Englishwoman, the whole situation would have been impossible. But she was just a waif and stray from the wilds of Bohemia, and her creed had been learned under the kindly stars. Would Father Healy take charge of her until a licence could be got? The father said "No," most emphatically; he would have no woman in the house. What, then, did he suggest? Of course, they were both very frightened of her, and they spoke in low tones as though she might burst in and accuse them. Impossible to face that little fury and declare, "There is nothing to be done." When Harry suggested that common humanity would marry them and trust to the licence afterwards, Father Healy asked, "Would ye have me in prison?" None the less, both plainly perceived now that it must be done. A licence could be obtained immediately, and the civil marriage celebrated at the office of the registrar. The good father, vague about the law, followed Harry back to the room with a protest on his lips. It was none of his doing--and yet he did it after all. And Harry must swear solemnly, and she must follow with her pledged word, not to leave Brighton until the affair was made legal. Oh, the change in her when she knew the truth! So they got the priest's blessing before the little altar in the oratory, and when the brief ceremony was over, they went away together, back to his rooms. But they were no longer gloomy rooms, for now the two saw nothing but each other's eyes, and little it mattered to them that the oleographs were mid-Victorian and that the mahogany chairs matched them. Maryska had found the heart of a new world, and she dwelt there for just two hours in good content until there came a knock upon the door, and Gordon Silvester, tired, pale, and wonderfully earnest, entered softly into their paradise and began to speak of men and cities. "I have telegraphed to Mr. Faber," he said. "He must know immediately." Maryska laughed in his face. "He is on the sea," she said. "You will have to send the telegram which flies." CHAPTER V TWO SHIPS UPON THE SEA I Faber had expected such a telegram; but he had not thought that it would be so longed delayed.