"We might as well put a bold front on the matter," whispered Royal, clasping quickly the ice-cold hands.
"She is, sir," he answered, with an air of assurance which he was far from feeling.
The effect of his words upon his host was wonderful. An expression that was almost diabolical flashed over his face.
"Hold!" he cried. "You need look no further for a minister; I will perform the ceremony. It is a pity for the young lady to have to go out in the storm to have a little service like that rendered. Old May's niece!" he muttered under his breath. "Ah, what a glorious revenge it is for me to give her to this profligate! Of course, old May don't know anything about the escapade of this girl!"
He clinched his hands tightly together as he looked at her. There was no feature of old John May perceptible in this slender little creature; but for all that, he hated her—ay, he hated her with a deadly hatred. He knew why.
"I will help you in this affair," he said, with a peculiar laugh that might mean much or might mean little.
The ceremony was not a long one, and almost before Ida could realize what was taking place, Royal Ainsley was bending over her, and calling her his dear little wife. But there was something about the kiss that he laid on her lips that made a strange shiver creep over her.
Royal Ainsley could hardly conceal his triumph. No matter if the Mays did find her now, they could not undo what had been done. He had wedded her and her millions!
"Is there a train that leaves for New York?" he asked.
"Yes; one passes here in about twenty minutes from now. By cutting across over to that side road you could easily catch it."