"Laurence!" she said, in a tremulous whisper. "Laurence, I have come."
"My own brave little girl!"
A tall figure stepped forward from beneath a tree, too warm hands clasped hers.
"Norry, you're a trump, by Jove! Come out at once. All is ready. You must fly with me to-night."
But she shrank back—shocked, terrified, yet longing with all her soul to obey.
"No, no!" she cried. "I can never go—never! never! never! O Lawrence! I have come here to bid you good-by forever!"
His answer was to laugh aloud. His face was flushed his blue eyes gleaming—Mr. Laurence Thorndyke, bold enough at all times, had primed himself with brandy for to-night's work, until he was ready to face and defy devils and men.
"Good-by forever!" he repeated. "Yes, that's so likely, my darling. Come out here, Norry—come out. I've no notion of talking with a five-barred gate between us. So old Gilbert came down to his wedding this afternoon didn't he? By Jupiter! what a row there will be to-morrow, when the cage is opened, and the bird found flown."
He laughed recklessly aloud, as he opened the gate and drew her out.
"Not if I know it, Norry. No dry-as-dust, grim, solemn owl of a lawyer for my little Canadian rosebud, old as the everlasting hills, and priggish as the devil. No, no! we'll change all that. Before morning dawns you and I will be safely in Boston, and before another night falls you'll be my blessed little wife—the loveliest bride from Maine to Florida, and I the most blissful of bridegrooms. All is ready—here are my horse and buggy—the sloop sails in an hour, and then—let them catch us who can!"