down to the boat. She seemed to
herself to be in a dream--in a trance.

As she walked beside him along the country road on the other shore a
voice was ringing in her ears: "Don't! Don't! Ask Olivia's advice
first!" But she walked on, her will suspended, substituted for it his
will and her jealousy and her fears of his yielding to the urgings of
his father and the blandishments of "that Cleveland girl." He said
little but kept close to her, watching her narrowly, touching her
tenderly now and then.

The Reverend Josiah Barker was waiting for them--an oily smirk on a
face smooth save where a thin fringe of white whiskers dangled from his
jaw-bone, ear to ear; fat, damp hands rubbing in anticipation of the
large fee that was to repay him for celebrating the marriage and for
keeping quiet about it afterward. At the proper place in the brief
ceremony Dumont, with a sly smile at Pauline which she faintly
returned, produced the ring--he had bought it at Saint X a week before
and so had started a rumor that he and Caroline Sylvester were to be
married in haste. He held Pauline's hand firmly as he put the ring on
her finger--he was significantly cool and calm for his age and for the
circumstances. She was trembling violently, was pale and wan. The
ring burned into her flesh.

"Whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder," ended Barker,
with pompous solemnity.

Dumont kissed her--her cheek was cold and at the touch of his lips she
shuddered.

"Don't be afraid," he said in a low voice that was perfectly steady.

They went out and along the sunny road in silence. "Whom God hath
joined," the voice was now dinning into her ears. And she was saying
to herself, "Has GOD joined us? If so, why do I feel as if I had
committed a crime?" She looked guiltily at him--she felt no thrill of
pride or love at the thought that he was her husband, she his wife.
And into her mind poured all her father's condemnations of him, with a
vague menacing fear riding the crest of the flood.

"You're sorry you've done it?" he said sullenly.

She did not answer.

"Well, it's done," he went on, "and it can't be undone. And I've got
you, Polly, in spite of them. They might have known better than to try
to keep me from getting what I wanted. I always did, and I always
shall!"

She looked at him startled, then hastily looked away. Even more than
his words and his tone, she disliked his eyes--gloating, triumphant.
But not u