"Brightest Christie, be my bride—my wife!" he cried, folding her closer in his arms, and speaking in a thrilling whisper.
Again the eloquent blood swept over her stainless neck and bosom, but she did not reply.
"You will not refuse me, my own Christie, this last, greatest favor? Comply now—to-day; for if the present opportunity passes, it may never occur again."
"But how—how can we be wedded here?" she said, shyly, lifting her eyes to his impassioned ones, and dropping them in brightest blushes.
"Christie, yonder lies a boat; it is three hours to sunset; long before that time we can reach Westport; there we can find a clergyman, and there you can become my own for life!"
"But it is so soon—so sudden," she faltered; "and Aunt Tom—she will never consent."
"She would not consent any way, fairest Christie. She would say you were too young—too far in social position beneath me. She would not believe my intentions honorable. In short, dearest, she would raise a thousand objections, and the end would be, that we would be parted forever."
"Oh, Willard! it would not be so bad as that; if you explained it all to her, I think she would consent. Aunt Tom is good and kind, and loves me, and would do anything to make me happy."
"That may be, brightest Christie; but that very love she has for you, and her wish to make you happy, would cause her to hesitate. For she would repeat the old, senseless saying, 'Marry in haste and repent at leisure,' and think the best way to make us both happy would be to postpone our marriage for years."
"But this secret marriage, it seems wrong—sinful. Oh, Willard, my soul revolts from it! If I could only tell Aunt Tom!" cried Christie, imploringly.