a day after they had crossed the Rubicon, and travelled far into
the country on whose borders they were still pressing.

"You have disgraced yourself and me, sir! You have gone far to ruin the
two of us! People will credit us of the same stock: a pair of needy and
reckless adventurers!"

"Master Winnington, I was willing: I could do what I liked with myself
without your leave; and I suppose Will Locke was equally independent,"
fired up Dulcie.

"We'll never be mistaken for the same grain, Sam Winnington," declared
Will Locke, with something like disdain. "I always knew that we were
clean different: and the real substance of the wood will come out more
and more distinctly, now that the mere bark is rubbed off."

Clary was modified at last; she kissed and sobbed over Dulcie, wished
her joy sincerely, half promised to visit her in town, and slipped a
posy ring from her own hand to the bride's, on the very finger where
Will Locke had the face to put the marriage-ring which wedded a comely,
sprightly, affectionate young woman to struggles and disappointments,
and a mad contest between spirit and matter. But Sam Winnington would
not so much as shake hands with Will; though he did not bear any malice
against Dulcie, and would have kissed her fingers if she would have
allowed it: and the young men, erstwhile comrades, looked so glumly and
grimly at each other, that it was a universal relief when the great
waggon drew up at the inn door.

Dulcie, in another character now, and that even before the fall of
the russet leaves--half ashamed but very proud, the little goose! of
the quick transformation--stepped into the waggon; the same boxes
were piled beside her; Will leapt in after her, and away they
rolled. There was nothing more for Dulcie to do but to wave her hand
to Clary and Cambridge, and the women of the inn (already fathoms
deep in her interest), and to realize that she was now a married
woman, and had young Will Locke the great painter, in his chrysalis
state, to look after.

But why was Sam Winnington so irate? He had never looked sweet on Dulcie
for half a second. Was it not rather that a blundering dreamer like Will
Locke had anticipated him, marred his tactics, and fatally injured his
scientific game? Sam came dropping down upon Redwater whenever he could
find leisure, when the snow was on the ground, or when the peaches were
plump and juicy, for the next two or three years. If he had not been
coming on finely