“I did not fully understand the meaning of the remark.” “Why did you not make the marriage legal as soon as we reached New York?” “In my heart I meant right, Mary. I intended to see Dorning, and find out his meaning. If we were not legally united, I intended that we should be.” “But you were swift to tell me I was not your wife, when you were angry with me.” “I was mad then; I had drank too much wine.” “I have lost confidence in you, Eliot.” “Do not say that, Mary,” pleaded Buckstone. “Have you seen Dorning since?” “I have not. He telegraphed to me, you remember, that two gentlemen were inquiring into the affair, and we went to Philadelphia.” “Why, Eliot? If you meant right, why should you have run away?” “To avoid a scene. I supposed then that it was your father who had made the inquiries. I thought it best not to meet him. You were of the same opinion.” “But it was not my father.” “No; it was Mr. Hungerford. It was none of his business. Why should he meddle with it?” “Perhaps he suspected the truth.” “What truth?” “That you were deceiving me.” “I was not deceiving you, Mary. If you were deceived, so was I.” “Mr. Hungerford was my friend. It seems that he suspected, what never occurred to me, that I had been cruelly duped.” “Mary, you wrong me. I have come here to make you my wife, if you are not so already. Your own clergyman shall marry us; and after I have done justice to you, I will leave it with you to live with me or not.” “Then you believe I am not your wife?” groaned Mary, to whom the fact that she had been a mother without being a wife was the sum of all miseries, outweighing all other sorrows combined. “To be candid, Mary, I do not believe we were legally married.” “Why have you not seen Mr. Dorning, and satisfied yourself? Is this a matter of so little consequence that you can pass it by like a rejected picture? O, Eliot, you have deceived me! You have robbed me of myself! Why have you not seen Mr. Dorning?” “I was afraid to see him; I preferred to be in doubt rather than to know that I had done you this great wrong.” “What will become of me?” sighed she. “Let us bury the past, dear Mary; and in the future I will be the fondest and truest of husbands,” pleaded Eliot. “We will be married to-morrow--to-night, if you will.” “I will consult my brother.” “No, Mary; do not tell him I am here, till we are married.” “He is my only friend. He will tell me what I should do. But, Eliot, he is terribly incensed, and you must not meet him. You must go; it is time for him to return now.” “Where is Ross?” “He has gone over to see Mr. Hungerford, who returned from Europe to-day. Go now, Eliot; I will tell you to-morrow what I will do.” “Tell me now, Mary. Let my conscience be at rest.” “Go at once; if Ross should see you, I tremble to think what the consequences might be.” “I am not afraid of him.” “But I am afraid. Don’t remain another moment.” “Go with me, Mary. Let your minister marry us to-night.”