"But, dear Thurston, of what are you talking? Of the event of your doing an unprincipled act! Impossible, dear Thurston! and forever impossible!" "And equally impossible, fair saint, that you should divulge our marriage with any chance of proving it. Marian, the minister that married us has sailed as a missionary to Farther India. And I only have the certificate of our marriage. You cannot prove it." "I shall not need to prove it, Thurston. Now that I have awakened your thoughts, I know that you will not further risk the peace of that confiding girl. Come! take my hand and let us return. We must hasten, too, for there is rain in that cloud." Thurston--piqued that he could not trouble her more--for under her calm and unruffled face he could not see the bleeding heart--arose sullenly, drew her hand within his arm and led her forth. And as they went the wind arose, and the storm clouds drove over the sky and lowered and darkened around them. Marian urged him to walk fast on account of the approaching tempest, and the anxiety the family at the cottage would feel upon her account. They hurried onward, but just as they reached the neighborhood of Old Fields a terrible storm of hail and snow burst upon the earth. It was as much as they could do to make any progress forward, or even to keep themselves upon their feet. While struggling and plunging blindly through the storm, amid the rushing of the wind and the rattling of the hail, and the crackling and creaking of the dry trees in the forest, and the rush of waters, and all the din of the tempest, Marian's ear caught the sound of a child wailing and sobbing. A pang shot through her heart. She listened breathlessly--and then in the pauses of the storm she heard a child crying, "Marian, Marian! Oh! where are you, Marian?" It was Miriam's voice! It was Miriam wandering in night and storm in search of her beloved nurse. Marian dropped Thurston's arm and plunged blindly forward through the snow, in the direction of the voice, crying, "Here I am, my darling, my treasure--here I am. What brought my baby out this bitter night?" she asked, as she found the child half perishing with cold and wet, and caught and strained her to her bosom. "Oh, the hail and snow came down so fast, and the wind shook the house so hard, and I could not sleep in the warm bed while you were out in the storm. So I stole softly down to find you. Don't go again, Marian. I love you so--oh! I love you so!" At this moment the child caught sight of Thurston standing with his face half muffled in his cloak. A figure to be strangely recognized under similar circumstances in after years. Then she did not know him, but inquired: "Who is that, Marian?" "A friend, dear, who came home with me. Good-night, sir." And so dismissing Thurston, he walked rapidly away. She hurried with Miriam to the house. CHAPTER XXI. ONE OF SANS SOUCI'S TRICKS.