Edith shuddered. The idea was not yet less repugnant than it had been. But she had consented, and here was this man--her only friend, her adorer--with all his love and devotion. If she did not love him, she must pity him. She had also given her word. As to the way in which this promise might be carried out, it was a matter of indifference. At any rate, she would escape from her hateful prison. And what mattered it how, or where, or when the ceremony might be performed? “Oh, Miss Dalton,” said Dudleigh, “forgive me! forgive me! I must go away in two days. Could you consent to let this be--tomorrow?” Edith made no reply. She trembled. Her head sank down lower. “There is one place,” said Dudleigh, and then hesitated. Edith said nothing. There was anguish in her face and in her heart. “The chapel--” “The chapel,” she repeated, dreamily. “It is hidden among the trees. Do you know it? It is away from all observation.” Edith bowed her head. She knew it well. It was off the main avenue--not far away from the Hall. “Can you get out of the house after dark?” said Dudleigh, in a feverish whisper. “It must be after dark, and we must be unobserved. For if Wiggins were to see us he would come as your guardian, and take you back, and shut you up--perhaps for life.” This suggestion about Wiggins chimed in with Edith's own fears. It made her desperate. The marriage seemed less abhorrent; it was eclipsed by the horrors of imprisonment for life. Discovery now--after that last threat of his--would bring a closer restraint, stricter imprisonment, the loss of all hope. “I can get out,” she said, hurriedly. “Where shall I find you?” “There is a private door at the east end--” “I know the door.” “I can get out through that. No one will think of my leaving the Hall after dark.” “I will meet you there.” Edith sighed heavily. “To-morrow evening,” said Dudleigh, “at ten o'clock. It will be dark then. Will you meet me?” “I will,” said Edith, calmly. “I shall only hope, then,” said he, “that no new restraint may be imposed upon you to prevent your coming. And now I will go--to meet you to-morrow.” He seized her hand in his icy grasp, wrung it convulsively, and bowing with his pallid face, walked quickly away. There was a weight on Edith's heart; but in spite of this, Dudleigh's last look, his agitated manner, and his deep love filled her with pity, and made her anxious to carry out her act of self-sacrifice for so dear and so true a friend. * * * * * CHAPTER XXVIII. A MARRIAGE IN THE DARK.