Maryska ran to him just like a child to a father. He was plump in an arm-chair with her by his side before a man could have counted ten, and she lit his cigar with a little hand which trembled while it held the match. "Harry and I are married!" she said, "you must not be very cross; _he_ would not have been. We went to the priest this afternoon--then that man came, and will not go away! Will you send him away, please? We do not want him here." Even Silvester laughed at this; all the conventions went into the melting-pot at the bidding of the child. It would have been impossible for Melpomene herself to have resisted her. The minister puffed hard at his pipe, and forgot her ingratitude. John Faber stroked her hair, and said to himself that her love had changed her wonderfully. "Why, my dear, that's not very kind to your good friend nor to me!" he said gently enough. "Don't you think you might have told us something about it all? Perhaps we should have been able to help you if you had come to us. Was it right to keep us all in the dark like this?" Of course, Harry blurted out that it was all his fault, and that she was not to blame. There were three speaking at once presently, and all the while Faber had Maryska's arms about his neck. They had not meant to do it all--circumstances drove them; they thought that he had gone away. To which was added the truly feminine dictum that they could not help loving each other, and were not to blame. When Silvester obtained a grasp of the situation, and declared that she must have known she was doing wrong, Maryska responded that she did not care a d----n; which finished the worthy pastor, and sent him in high dudgeon back to his hotel. It was nearly midnight, and he feared that he would be locked out! When he was gone, Faber took Harry aside and had a long talk with him. This was a very different affair, and set every nerve in the young man's body tingling. To begin with, there was the charge upon the honour of the man. Why had he not had it out with Gabrielle? A man who cannot talk straight to a woman, whatever the circumstances, is worth very little in the world. Then, what did he propose to do? To keep house and wife and children upon his paltry three hundred a year? What selfishness was that; what a confession of idleness and vain folly! He, Faber, would let Maryska remain with no man who would not work himself for her, and bring ambition to his task. Harry should have twelve months to justify himself! If he needed capital, it was there--but he must prove his worth. "Show me," said Faber, "that you earn five hundred pounds honestly at the end of twelve months, and I will make it five thousand!" Failing that, he swore very solemnly that he would have Maryska back with him at Charleston, and defy the consequences. "She'll be glad to come," he said; "she's just the kind to discover whether a man has grit in him or no--and God help you, if you haven't."