"I do not deserve so much consideration at your hands," murmured the girl.
Before he had time to reply, their station was reached. There were few people at the station owing to the lateness of the hour.
An old-fashioned carry-all was waiting at the rear. Peering out from it was the face of old Black Joe.
"Welcome, marse! welcome!" he cried. "An' a thousand welcomes to the lovely young missus, your bride! There's a great company at the house, sir, awaiting you both."
Eugene Mallard thanked the old colored servant for his kind wishes for himself and bride, as he helped Ida into the vehicle.
There was a long ride over a rough mountain road, during which time, much to old Black Joe's surprise, scarcely a word was exchanged between the bride and groom, and it puzzled the good old man.
Was the lady ill? So great was his concern over it, that he was tempted to ask his master the question a dozen times. But prudence restrained him.
At length, in turning an abrupt curve in the road, a gray stone mansion, fairly ablaze with lights from cellar to dome, loomed in sight—lights that twinkled like glow-worms in the distance. They could hear the strains of music, and as they approached they could even hear the sound of voices.
Still no word was uttered by either of them.