Mischievous Maid Faynie | Page 9

had not much time to spare.
"Good-by, papa," she murmured, turning for an instant and looking up
at his lighted window. "Good-by, my stepmamma," she whispered.
"You have always hated me and wished me out of the way. I am going
now, and you will rejoice. Good-by, Claire," she added, as her eyes
wandered upward to the little lighted window in the western wing.
"You never hated me. You always loved me as though we had indeed
been sisters. Good-by, kind old family servants. You will all miss me, I
know, but I am going to happiness and love. What fate could be
better?"
She waited some moments at the trysting place ere she heard the sound
of crunching wheels on the snow. A moment later she heard the
welcome voice saying: "Faynie, where are you?" The next instant she
was folded in a pair of strong, masculine arms.
But as the owner of them touched her lips with his own Faynie had
started back with a terrible feeling of faintness rushing over her. For the
first time her lover's breath was strong with the odor of brandy.
And the voice, which was always so gentle, kind and endearing, was
muttering something about "the cursed darkness of the night."
No wonder the girl's soul revolted, and that she changed her mind
suddenly about the elopement, which was to make or mar her young
life. And what she heard after he forced her into the coach only added
to the terror which had grown into her heart against him, and when she
made that flying leap from the coach, her one cry to Heaven was that
she might escape the man whom she had but so lately madly adored,
but whom she now so thoroughly abhorred.
CHAPTER V.

"CAN YOU PERFORM THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY AT ONCE,
REVEREND SIR?"
It was the hour of eleven by the village clock. Eleven sounded from the
old clock on the mantel. The fire burned low in the grate of Rev. Dr.
Warner's study. The air was growing chill in the room. Still, the old
pastor, who had looked after the village flock for nearly half a century,
heeded neither the time nor the chill, he was so intent upon the sermon
he was writing for the morrow.
He had scarcely concluded the last line ere he heard a well-known tap
upon the door.
He smiled as he arose from his chair, crossed the room and flung open
the door.
He knew well whom he should find standing there, old Adam, the
village sexton and grave digger, who always stopped when he saw a
light in the study window.
"Come in, Adam," said the reverend gentleman; "come up to the fire
and warm yourself; it's a wild night to be about. Has any one sent you
here for me?"
"No, parson," replied Adam, hobbling in. "There's no call for you to be
out on this terrible night, thank Heaven. It's quite by chance that I left
my own fireside myself. I had an errand at the other end of the village.
The weather caught me returning--a regular blizzard--and I have been
floundering about in the drifting snow for hours. I thought I had lost my
way until I saw the light in the window, and--"
But the rest of the sentence was never finished, for at that moment both
men heard distinctly the sound of carriage wheels without,
accompanied by the loud neighing of horses.
Before they could express their wonderment there was a loud peal at
the front door bell.

The reverend gentleman answered the summons in person.
Before him stood three persons, two men and a woman, a slender figure
wearing a long dark cloak, and whose face was covered by a thick veil.
Both men had their coat collars turned up and their hats pulled low over
their faces to protect them from the stinging cold.
"You are the Rev. Dr. Warner?" queried one of the gentlemen. The
minister bowed in the affirmative, hurriedly bidding his guests to enter.
"You will pardon our errand," exclaimed the stranger who had already
spoken, "but we are here to enlist your services. Can you perform a
wedding ceremony in the old chapel across the way? Our time is
limited. We are in all haste to catch a train, and wish the marriage to
take place with the least possible delay."
"Certainly, certainly, sir," returned the good man. "I am always pleased
to join two souls in holy matrimony. Step in; the lady must be
thoroughly chilled. This is a dreadful night."
"We prefer to make our way directly over to the chapel," remarked the
man who had spoken up to this point. "The lady is warm, having but
just left the carriage, a few steps beyond."
"As you