"And I'll be happy, Saunders, to see to the wedding supper and the rice," said his lordship. "Have you decided where you will go on your wedding journey?"
"Yes, sir," said Saunders seriously, "God helping us, we'll go to England."
The wedding took place that night in the little chapel. It was not an imposing celebration; neither was it attended by the gladsome revelry that usually marks the nuptial event, no matter how humble. The very fact that these two were being urged to matrimony by the uncertainties of life was sufficient to cast a spell of gloom over the guests and high contracting parties alike. The optimism of Hollingsworth Chase lightened the shadows but little.
Chase deliberately took possession of the Princess after the hollow wedding supper had come to an end. He purposely avoided the hanging garden and kept to the vine-covered balcony overlooking the sea. Her mood had changed. Now she was quite at ease with him; the taunting gleam in her dark eyes presaged evil moments for his peace of mind.
"I'm inspired," he said to her. "A wedding always inspires me."
"It's very strange that you've never married," she retorted. She was striding freely by his side, confident in her power to resist sentiment with mockery.
"Will you be my wife?" he asked abruptly. She caught her breath before laughing tolerantly, and then looked into his eyes with a tantalising ingenuousness.
"By no means," she responded. "I am not oppressed by the same views that actuated Miss Pelham. You see, Mr. Chase, I am quite confident that we are not to die in two weeks."
"I could almost wish that we could die in that time," he said.
"How very diabolical!"