“No, no; for I did not dream of this. I made up my mind last night to come to Washington on a little—business trip while you were away. When—when—did you arrive?”
“Just a few minutes ago. And I thought we had better get married before we registered, or even had breakfast, for fear Mr. Dawn might be on our track.”
“We must have traveled on the same train. How strange we did not meet—how fortunate that we meet now!” she cried, with almost tragic emphasis.
“Yes, mother, for now you can witness our marriage and give us your blessing. Cinthia, dear, shake hands with my mother.”
Cinthia put out a little trembling hand, and looked timidly out of the corner of her drooping eyes at the beautiful lady.
She met a cold glance, and the hand that just touched hers without the slightest pressure was icy.
“Are you ready now?” asked the minister, again opening his book.
“Yes,” answered Arthur, taking Cinthia’s hand, and turning to him eagerly.
But there came a low, heart-wrung cry from the mother’s lips:
“Wait!”