Maria shaded her eyes with her hand, and gazed attentively. "I--really--do--think--she--is!" she exclaimed slowly. "What a strange thing!" "A Welshwoman married to a Scotch husband, possibly," suggested Charlotte. "The Welsh smoke." "I'll make her a Welshwoman," said Maria gaily, "with a man's coat, and a man's hat. But, there's--there's another now. George, it is Margery!" "Yes," said Mr. George composedly. "I saw her go in half an hour ago. How smart she is! She must be paying morning calls." They laughed at this, and watched Margery. A staid woman of middle age, who had been maid to the late Mrs. Godolphin. Margery dressed plainly, but she certainly looked smart to-day, as the sun's rays fell upon her. The sun was unusually bright, and Charlotte Pain remarked it, saying it made her eyes ache. "Suspiciously bright," observed George Godolphin. "Suspiciously?" He flirted the ashes from his cigar with his finger. "Suspicious of a storm," he said. "We shall have it, ere long. See those clouds. They look small and inoffensive; but they mean mischief." Charlotte Pain strolled away over the meadows towards the side path on which Margery was advancing. George Godolphin leaped from his seat, apparently with the intention of following her. But first of all he approached Maria, and bent to look at her progress. "Make the farm--as you call it--very conspicuous, Maria, if you are going to keep the sketch as a memento," said he. "Is it not a farm?" "It was, once; until idleness suffered it to drop through." "Why should I make it particularly conspicuous?" she continued. There was no reply, and she looked quickly up. A peculiar expression, one which she did not understand, sat upon his face. "If we had a mind to cheat the world, Maria, we might do so, by paying a visit to that house." "In what way?" "I might take you in Maria Hastings, and bring you out Mrs. George Godolphin." "What do you mean?" she inquired, completely puzzled. Mr. George laughed. "The man who lives there, Sandy Bray, has made more couples one than a rustic parson. Some people call him a public nuisance; others say he is a convenience, as it is three miles to the nearest kirk. He goes by the nickname of Minister Bray. Many a lad and lassie have stolen in there, under cover of the twilight, and in five minutes have come forth again, married, the world being none the wiser." "Is it the place they call Gretna Green?" inquired Maria in much astonishment. "No, it is not Gretna Green. Only a place of the same description, and equally serviceable." "But such marriages cannot be binding!" "Indeed they are. You have surely heard of the Scotch laws?" "I have been told that any one can marry people in Scotland. I have heard that the simple declaration of saying you take each other for man and wife constitutes a marriage." "Yes; if said before a witness. Would you like to try it, Maria?"