"This day fortnight will give you ample time for all the wedding garniture," said the young man. "You hear, Mollie--a fortnight." Mollie sighed resignedly, "Of course, you will play the tyrant, as usual, and carry me off willy-nilly, if I don't consent. You must have everything your own way, I suppose. And now--I'm dying to know--tell me, who is Sarah Grant?" "An eminently respectable young woman, and the wife of my foster-brother. She and her husband would do anything under the sun for me. The husband was the coachman who drove you when you were abducted--who witnessed the marriage, and who is driving us now. Sarah's a trump! Didn't she outwit Oleander nicely?" "How? Oh, Hugh," clasping her hands, "I see it all--the resemblance just puzzled me so. Sarah Grant was Susan Sharpe." "Of course, she was, and a capital nurse she made. Sarah's worth her weight in gold, and you will tell her so the next time you see her. And now, here we are at Mrs. Watson's, and so good-bye for an hour or two, my little wife." And Mollie went in, her face radiant, and all the world changed since she had left. With the "witching hour of candle-light" came Mr. Ingelow again, to spend the evening with his lady-love. He looked a little serious, as Mollie saw. "What is it, Hugh?" she asked, in alarm. "Nothing much. I was thinking of Walraven. I saw him this afternoon." "Well?" breathlessly. "He is off again. Back to Europe, in the steamer to-morrow, never to return, he says. I never saw a man more cast down. So old Madame Walraven will be monarch of all she surveys once more, and the Fifth Avenue mansion will be the abode of darkness and desolation again. Miss Blanche is settled at Yonkers for good." "Did you tell him--" "About our forthcoming nuptials? Oh, yes! He looked rather surprised, and asked about the Mysterious Unknown in the mask. But I pooh-poohed that matter--told him I didn't think the mysterious husband would ever trouble us, and I don't think he will. By the bye, Sir Roger Trajenna goes to-morrow, too, so my little girl is deserted by all, and must cling the closer to me." * * * * * While Carl Walraven and Sir Roger Trajenna sailed over the wide sea--while Blanche Walraven ground her teeth in impotent rage up at Yonkers--while Dr. Guy Orleander pursued his business in New York, and scowled darkly at the failure of his plans--the daily papers burst out, one morning, with the jubilant news that Hugh Ernest Ingelow, Esq., and Miss Mollie Dane were one flesh. The Reverend Raymond Rashleigh performed the ceremony, and the wedding was a very quiet affair, and the happy pair started off at once to spend the honey-moon in a trip to the Canadas.