tter to what measure, and midnight came, and
the train came, and the comfort and privacy of a first-class carriage
restored the lover-like attitude of the runaways. Early in the morning
they reached Plymouth, and as soon as possible they sought the house
of the Wesleyan preacher. It stood close to the chapel and was readily
found. A written message on Roland's card brought him at once to the
parlour. He looked with interest and curiosity and some disapproval at
the couple.

"Mr. Tresham," he said, glancing at the card which he held in his
hand, "you wish me to marry you. I think----" He was going to make
some inquiries or objections, but he caught the expression of anxiety
in the face of Denas, and then he looked carefully at her and asked:

"Have I not seen you before?"

"Yes, sir, when you preached at St. Penfer last summer. I am the
daughter of John Penelles."

"The fisher Penelles?"

"Yes, sir."

"Oh! Yes, Mr. Tresham, I will marry you at once. It will be the best
thing, under the circumstances, I am sure. Follow me, sir." As they
went along a narrow covered way, he called a servant and gave her an
order, and then opening a door ushered the would-be bride and
bridegroom into the chapel, and straight to the communion rail.

Denas knelt down there, and for a few moments lost herself in sincere
prayer. After all, in great emotion prayer was her native tongue. When
she stood up and lifted her eyes, the preacher's wife and two
daughters were at her side, and the preacher himself was at the
communion table, with the open book in his hand. The bare chapel in
the grey daylight; the strange tones of the preacher's voice in the
empty place; the strange women at her side--it was all like a dream.
She felt afraid to move or to look up. She answered as she was told,
and she heard Roland answer also. But his voice did not sound real and
happy, and when he took the plain gold ring from the preacher's hand
and said after him, "With this ring I thee wed," she raised her eyes
to her husband's face. It was pale and sombre. No answering flash of
love met hers, and she felt it difficult to restrain her tears.

In truth, Roland was smitten with a sudden irresolution that was
almost regret. As Denas knelt praying, there had come to his mind many
a dream he had had of his own wedding. He had always thought of it in
some old church that would be made to glow with bride-roses and ring
with bride-music. Young maidens and men of high