“But what shall I do? I cannot go home. My father would kill me if he knew what has just transpired,” added she, as she glanced inquiringly into his face. “Neither go home, nor go to Newington alone,” he continued; and it was evident from his look and his manner, that he had a proposition to make, though there was some embarrassment about mentioning it. “I must do something.” “Of course you must, Mary.” “What shall I do?” “You shall be my wife before the sun goes down to-night, Mary!” exclaimed he, rapturously. She shrank from him, apparently offended, while her cheeks were redder than the sun when he rose from his watery bed. “Don’t shrink from me, Mary. I meant no harm.” It was some time before he could restore her to her former self-possession. “Mary, I love you with all my soul. I could die for you this moment, even without possessing you for a single instant. You don’t think I would propose anything which I did not believe was best for you?” “No, Eliot, I do not.” “If you had even the humblest home, I could wait without a murmur whole years. But you are alone in the world, without a roof to cover you, without a friend to comfort you. You are mine; but what can I do for you? I cannot even give you a shelter. I cannot even conduct you to a place of safety, without subjecting you to the breath of slander.” It was kind of him, harsh and abrupt as the proposition had seemed. He meant well, she thought, and she did not reproach him when he again brought up the subject. Mr. Buckstone argued the question like a lawyer, and in the end he overcame all her maidenly scruples. Her situation was a desperate one, and if she was to be the wife of this man, it might as well be to-day, as a year hence. She consented, unwillingly, shrinkingly, almost revoltingly, but she consented. “We shall reach Boston by half past two, and Providence by six. I have friends there, and you shall be a bride before the sun goes down,” he added, exultingly, pressing her to his bosom. “We have no time to spare;” and he took up the oars, and pulled up the river again. Landing, he carried her bundle to the hotel. A valise was purchased for her use, and she was soon employed in packing it with her clothing. Her breakfast was sent to her room. A private vehicle was procured, and they hastened to the railroad station at Poppleton Mills. But they were seen together; seen to depart together, with the valise and other baggage; seen together at the hotel. If the whole truth was not known to the busybodies of Poppleton, it was fully surmised. And on this morning, as Eliot Buckstone and his intended bride were speeding on their way to Providence, Eugene and his friend commenced the work which they had planned during the week of vacation. All the laborers that could be procured at the Port and at the Mills were employed upon the projected roads through Pine Hill. A practical man had been engaged to superintend the operations.