"Thus grief still treads upon the heel of pleasure,

Married in haste, we may repent at leisure."--Congreve.

It seemed to Anna when Friday came, that human experience had nothing

further to offer in the way of mental anguish and suspense. She had

thrashed out the question of her secret marriage to Sanderson till her

brain refused to work further, and there was in her mind only dread and

a haunting sense of loss. If she had only herself to consider, she

would not have hesitated a moment. But Sanderson, his father, and her

own mother were all involved.

Was she doing right by her mother? At times, the advantage to the

invalid accruing from this marriage seemed manifold. Again it seemed

to Anna but a senseless piece of folly, prompted by her own selfish

love for Sanderson. And so the days wore on until the eventful Friday

came, and Anna said good-bye to Mrs. Standish Tremont with livid cheeks

and tearful eyes.

"And do you feel so badly about going away, my dear?" said the great

lady, looking at those visible signs of distress and feeling not a

little flattered by her young cousin's show of affection. "We must

have you down soon again," and she patted Anna's cheek and hurried her

into the car, for Mrs. Tremont had a horror of scenes and signals

warned her that Anna was on the verge of tears.

The locomotive whistled, the cars gave a jolt, and Anna Moore was

launched on her tragic fate. She never knew how the time passed after

leaving Mrs. Tremont, till Sanderson joined her at the next station.

She felt as if her will power had deserted her, and she was dumbly

obeying the behests of some unseen relentless force. She looked at the

strange faces about her, hopelessly. Perhaps it was not too

late---perhaps some kind motherly woman would tell her if she were

doing right. But they all looked so strange and forbidding, and while

she turned the question over and over in her mind, the car stopped, the

brakeman called the station and Lennox Sanderson got on.

She turned to him in her utter perplexity, forgetting he was the cause

of it.

"My darling, how pale you are. Are you ill?"

"Not ill, but----" He would not let her finish, but reassured her by

the tenderest of looks, the warmest of hand clasps, and the terrified

girl began to lose the hunted feeling that she had.

They rode on for fully an hour. Sanderson was perfectly

self-possessed. He might have been married every day in the year, for

any difference it made in his demeanor. He was perfectly composed,

laughed and chatted as wittily as ever. In time, Anna partook of his

mood and laughed back. She felt as if a weight had been lifted off her

mind. At last they stopped at a little station called Whiteford. An

old-fashioned carriage was waiting for them; they entered it and the

driver, whipped up his horses. A drive of a half mile brought them to

an ideal white cottage surrounded by porches and hidden in a tangle of

vines. The door was opened for them by the Rev. John Langdon in person.

He seemed a preternaturally grave young man to Anna and his clerical

attire was above reproach. Any misgivings one might have had regarding

him on the score of his youth, were more than counterbalanced by his

almost supernatural gravity.




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