"Yes," she replied, eagerly and hopefully, feeling sure that he must capitulate now and yield to her wishes. It was better to marry the wrong girl than lose such a princely fortune. It was impossible that he should hesitate over such a question. She waited, almost confident of his answer, only wondering which he would choose--Olive, who was her secret preference, or the equally pretty Ela. But he was slow in making his choice. Suddenly sitting upright, he gazed curiously at her excited face several minutes without replying, until the silence grew irksome, and she cried, with veiled impatience: "I do not wish to hurry you, Love, but you must see for yourself how important it is that you should make a speedy decision. The bishop and the guests are waiting for the wedding, and unless it comes off soon the breakfast will be spoiled." Slowly Love got upon his feet, and steadying his trembling frame by a hand on the back of a chair, startled her with the mocking words: "You have plotted cleverly, madame, but you have lost the game. Neither Olive nor Ela will ever be bride of mine!" Her eyes flashed in her pale face, and she said, insolently: "Very well, then; I am the mistress of Ellsworth, and you a pauper!" "Not so fast; you have not heard all," he answered coolly. "I understand the little game you have been playing, madame, you and your two clever nieces. You have plotted to frighten Dainty to death, but foiled in that, you kidnaped her at the eleventh hour, hoping to frighten me into marrying one of your nieces by the threat of disinheritance; but your malicious scheme has failed. There exists an insuperable objection to my marriage with Olive or Ela." "Insuperable?" she muttered, incredulously. "Yes; I am a married man already." A bolt of lightning would not have startled her as much as those calmly spoken words. It was her turn now to stare speechlessly, while Love continued, earnestly: "You are detected in your hellish plotting, madame. The proof of it is in that letter there. A base forgery, since Dainty Chase could not possibly have written it--Dainty Ellsworth, I should say rather, for she has been my wife two weeks." "Your wife?" she faltered, wildly. "Yes; there was a secret marriage two weeks ago, designed to prevent just what has happened now--some treachery on the part of the three women who hated Dainty and were trying to work her ill. Yes, I understand your game; as I said just now, Dainty was kidnaped, and you know where she is, but your malice can not undo the fact that she is my wife, and my inheritance safe. I go now to break the truth to the wedding guests, and their indignation will compel you to restore me my bride!" He rushed from the room, heedless of her shrieks for him to stay, and sought the thronged parlor, where the disappointed guests waited for an explanation. Within the door he paused, raised his hand, and began: "My dear friends, I--"