, Mr. Maggs, pity the impatience of ardent love, and get on with the
ceremony."

High spirits these for a runaway match. The handsome face was flushed,
the blue eyes feverishly bright, a strong odor of cigars and cognac
pervaded Mr. Thorndyke's broadcloth. The Rev. Mr. Maggs coughed, a meek,
clerical cough, looked furtively and admiringly at the bride, drew forth
a book, and "stood at ease." Mr. Thorndyke drew Miss Bourdon up before
him, the ring between his fingers, an odd sort of smile on his lips. For
Norine, she had grown ashen white; now that the supreme moment had come,
she was trembling from head to foot. Even to her inexperience there was
something bizarre, something wrong and abnormal, in this _outre_ sort of
marriage. A bride without bridal dress, veil or blossoms; without
bridesmaid, or friend; a bridegroom splashed with mud and rain drops,
without groomsman or witness. And the Rev. Mr. Maggs, for a holy man,
was as dirty and disreputable a specimen of the class as one might wish
to see. She stood by his side, pale to the lips, afraid of--she knew not
what. As in a dream she heard Mr. Maggs gabbling over some sort of
ceremony. As in a dream she saw the ring slipped over her finger. As in
a dream she saw him shut up his book with a slap, and heard him
pronounce them man and wife. Then for the first time she lifted her
eyes, full, clear, questioning to the face of Laurence Thorndyke. For
the first time, perhaps, in his own experience of himself he shrank
before their crystal clear, childishly innocent gaze. His were still
full of that intolerable light of triumph--that exultant smile yet
lingered on his lips.

He drew Maggs aside and slipped a crisp greenback, into his hand. Then
the reverend gentleman resumed his hat, bowed to the bride, wished her
joy with an unctuous smile, and slowly took himself out of the room.

"My dear little wife!" Laurence Thorndyke said. "You have made me the
happiest man in America to-day. For the next four weeks, in our pretty
Chelsea cottage, it shall be our business to forget that the world holds
another human creature than our two selves."

"And I've paid _you_ off, I think, my friend Gilbert, with compound
interest." Mr. Thorndyke added, mentally, as a rider to that pretty
little speech. "I'm not over and above rich this morning, but I'd give a
cool hundred to see your face."

And so, while not half a mile off, Richard Gilbert and Reuben Kent were
searching, with the aid o