“Oh!” said Frank, but this was an extraordinary occasion, the father was really at heart not opposed to this marriage, but circumstances compelled him to withhold his open consent—he himself, (Frank,) was about to depart on a long journey, and merely wished to secure his bride against a forced marriage of convenience during his absence. In short, Frank recommenced the argument, and told it all over from beginning to end. Still the old man shook his bald head and demurred. Frank began the story over again, recited the whole of it, with many additions and improvements. To no purpose—the old man was obdurate. Frank, then half angrily, arose and said— “Come Zuleime! We must go on to the frontier together, and find somebody to marry us on the route, and let Mr. Saunders here be responsible for all trouble that may ensue, since with the license before him, he refuses to unite us.” At this, Zuleime burst into tears and wept heartily. The old preacher dropped his head upon his breast in troubled thought for some moments, and, whether the arguments of Frank had after all produced some effect, or whether he feared to encounter the responsibility of sending this wild young couple on their way unmarried, or whether he was moved to pity by the tears of Zuleime, or whether, as is more probable, _all_ these considerations actuated him, I know not; but he slowly rose to his feet, uncovered his head, and lifted up his eyes in silent prayer awhile, then bade the young pair stand up, for that he would marry them. Frank clasped the hand of Zuleime, and led her forward. And in less than fifteen minutes more, by the magic of a few words, the youth and maiden were man and wife. And while Mrs. Fairfax, with trembling white fingers, was tying her hat, Mr. Fairfax would have emptied the whole contents of his purse in the minister’s hands,—but, though that money might have supplied the poor old preacher with many necessaries for which he really suffered, and made him very comfortable for a long time, yet he turned away his head, and put it away from him, saying— “No, young man, I cannot take your gold; I may have erred in what I have done, but I did not do it for money.” “But you always take a fee, do you not?” “From others I do—not from you. It would not be blessed.” The boyish brow of Frank clouded and darkened, but it cleared again instantly as he turned towards his bride. They were about to bid the old minister adieu, when he took a hand of each, and joining them again, held them in his own, while he said— “Children, if this thoughtless act bring you into much trouble, in the long, weary years of trial and suffering that may result from it, reproach _me_ for my share in the rash deed as much as you please, but,—” he paused and looked solemnly from one to the other,—“never, as you value love, and fidelity, and peace,—never, as you value the favor of Heaven, never reproach each other with it! So may God forgive, and bless, and prosper you! Good-bye!”