“What can I do, Dick?” “Drive the whole subject out of your mind. She has been unfortunate in her husband, if he is her husband----” “My God!” groaned Eugene, refusing to be comforted. “Come, Hungerford, you are absurd. Listen to me, and I will heal your wounds and hers at the same time.” “You cannot.” “Yes, I can. What under the canopy do you wish to do? Do you intend to marry the girl yourself, after what has happened?” Eugene only looked at him, and his expression was so sad and painful that Dick abandoned the “heroic” method of treatment which he had pursued, and became as gentle as a woman. “Of course you cannot undo what has been done. Now, Hungerford, if you saw Mary happily situated, would that satisfy you?” “Happily situated!” repeated Eugene. “How can she be happily situated, after she has been so cruelly mocked and deceived?” “No matter for that; if you could see her so situated, would you be satisfied?” “I would; but----” “No buts about it, my dear fellow. Nay, hear me. All her misery grows out of the fact that she has not been legally married.” “It is horrible to think of,” said Eugene, with a shudder “Such a gentle, sensitive, angelic nature as Mary’s could endure everything rather than this.” “Then we will correct it.” “You are treating this as a matter of business, Dick; just as you bargain for my house and my horses.” “No, Hungerford; I simply apply common sense to the case. I have a remedy.” “There is no remedy.” “Yes, there is. You will not hear me.” “Go on,” replied the stricken lover, impatiently and hopelessly. “If Mary is not married, she shall be married. We will have the ceremony performed by your own minister. This Buckstone shall face the music--nay, Hungerford, don’t interrupt me. That will heal the worst wound, and that will satisfy her. Now, as you have plenty of money, you can insure her against want to the last day of her life. Settle twenty thousand dollars upon her. Invest it in stocks; make Ross trustee, and let him pay over to her the income. Let it go to her children at her decease. This plan ought to make you perfectly easy; at least it ought to atone for your fault, if you are guilty of any.” “O, Dick! To think of healing her wounds with money!” said Eugene, reproachfully. “Nothing of the kind; we heal the wound with marriage, which is the only balm for her sorrow.” “Will Buckstone marry her?” “He will; he shall have the alternative of marrying her, or standing a criminal prosecution.” “This is revolting, Dick. A villain to marry her in order to avoid a criminal prosecution.” “It will save her good name; it will make her a wife. When he has done justice to her, he may go, if he pleases.” “And leave her in her misery?” “He will not go, Hungerford. He may be a very good fellow yet. Nothing has been proved against him, except that he drinks too much.” “For shame, Dick! Is it nothing that he tells her she is not his wife?”