"We will be there in ten minutes more," said the man, briskly.
"Where is there?" inquired Mollie, in the same faint accent.
"Home, my pretty wife—our cottage by the sea, and all that, you know. Don't droop, my charming Cricket. We'll be as happy together as the days are long. I love you with all my soul—I swear it by all that's good and gracious; and I'll make you the best husband ever bright-eyed little girl had. Trust me, Mollie, and cheer up. Yoicks! Here we are."
The carriage stopped with a jerk that precipitated Mollie into her captor's arms; but, with an angry push, she was free again directly.
The man opened the door and sprung out. Wind howling, rain tailing, trees surging, sea roaring, and a big dog barking, made the black night hideous.
"Down, Tiger! Down, you big, noisy brute!" cried the man. "Here, Mollie, let me help you out."
There was no escape—Mollie let him. The salt breath of the sea blew in her face—its awful thunder on the shore drowned all lesser noises.
Through the blackness of the black night she could see the blacker outline of a house, from one or two windows of which faint lights shone. Tossing trees surrounded it—a high board fence and a tall, padlocked gate inclosed it.
"All right, Mollie," the man said. "This is home!"
He drew her arm within his and hurried her up a long, graveled path, under dripping, tossing trees.