“What circumstances?” “Whatever the truth may be, it is generally understood that she has been a mother without being a wife.” “True.” “As the world goes, her reputation is blasted, and she can no longer be received in good society.” “She shall be received in good society!” exclaimed Eugene, leaping out of his chair, and pacing the room with violent strides. “I say nothing of the merits of this case. I speak only of the way of the world,” added Dr. Bilks, mildly apologizing for repeating what he would not advance as his own individual thought. “I understand you, doctor. You may as well know now what all the world shall know one of these days. Mary is still mine!” said Eugene, with energy, as he paused before the doctor’s chair. “All earth shall not rob me of her again!” “I can understand your feelings,” interposed Dr. Bilks, soothingly. “I am no hypocrite; and I could hardly conceal the joy I felt when I heard of this murder.” “For God’s sake, Mr. Hungerford, don’t say that,” protested the doctor. “I feel it; why should I not say it?” “It would not be prudent. If you expressed such a thought, people would suspect you of instigating Ross Kingman to the commission of the crime,” said Dr. Bilks, whose solicitude for the good name of his new friend was fully expressed in his face. “I do not mean joy at the murder.” “Of course not.” “I only rejoiced that Mary was free again. I would not have injured Buckstone. I made Ross promise not to harm him, if he met him, though I had no suspicion that he was in Poppleton.” “Certainly; I understand you. But you would not think of marrying Mary now?” “I will think of it now, and do it as soon as the circumstances will permit. Of course I say this to you in confidence.” “Of course; that is fully understood.” “I will do it if she will consent.” “She will, without doubt.” “She married this Buckstone under the pressure of terrible circumstances. It was all my fault that she did so; and I will atone for my error in the only way open to me.” “I am afraid the public voice will condemn you.” “Let it condemn me.” “What do your mother and sister say?” “I have not spoken to them. They may regret, but they will not oppose my decision. I believe that Mary loves me now, as I love her. To me she is as pure as she was the day she was born. My friends will object, but I cannot help it. She shall be my wife, if she will; and if she cannot be respected and honored as such here, I will go with her to the farthest verge of the country in search of a home. I do not ask whether she is a widow or a castaway. She is to me now what she has been for years. What I say to you to-day, I shall say to her to-morrow. Let the world condemn me, if it will. I shall live for my own heart, not for the applause of the multitude.” “A man with three millions can afford to be independent in such a matter.” “I have no three millions; I may never have.”