He reached down and gathered her up like a child in his strong arms.
“Oh, my love—my treasure! What a terrible risk you ran for me! Tell me if you are hurt!”
She whispered nervously against his breast:
“I don’t think I am, only frightened almost to death. I thought—thought—every bone—would be broken—but the snow was as soft as a feather bed! Oh, let us get away, Arthur, before they hear us! You may carry me if you will—I am trembling so,” her teeth chattering so that she could scarcely speak.
“That’s what I meant to do,” Arthur replied, managing to find her face somehow in the darkness and imprint a kiss upon it ere he strode away with her to the sleigh, and tucked her in among the robes so that not a breath of cold could reach her, while he kept up her courage with the tenderest words, assuring her that she should never repent trusting herself to him.
“Oh, how dark it is! How shall you find your way along the dark country road?” she cried in alarm.
“Don’t you see my sleigh-lamps? Besides, I know the road well. I shall have to drive slowly, but that will not matter, as there is no one in pursuit, and the train is not due till one o’clock,” returned Arthur, confidently, as he seated himself, took the reins, and chirruped to his fleet pony.
Cinthia snuggled up to his side, and sobbed and laughed hysterically till he almost exhausted the whole vocabulary of love-words before she said:
“Oh, Arthur, I must tell you why I fell, and you will not call me your brave little heroine any more, but only the greatest coward in the world!”
And the wicked young elopers, flying through the storm and darkness of night toward the happy haven of marriage, laughed together till they almost forgot their surroundings at Cinthia’s sudden fear, while vowing but a moment before to fly to Arthur though the whole world oppose.