They were married one still summer night, in a little chapel in a neighboring town, by an aged minister, who (somewhat to the surprise and annoyance of Mr. Sumner, who had no idea of carrying the sacrilege so far) gave into the young bride’s hands at the close of the ceremony a certificate of that transaction.
But when the time came for her return to her father, Marion began to fear she had made a great mistake, and grave questions began to suggest themselves for answering.
How would the proud and aristocratic marquis receive the knowledge of her marriage?
How would he regard the son-in-law who would stoop to win and marry his daughter in this underhanded and clandestine manner?
During the last week of her stay at Rye, Mr. Sumner informed her that he had received an imperative summons away on business.
“But, George, I must go home next week, and then papa must be told of our marriage. I supposed, of course, you would go with me, and we could confess it together,” Marion opposed.
Mr. Sumner frowned at this remark, then looked troubled and perplexed.
“I cannot go with you now; my summons is positive. You will have to be patient and wait awhile until I can come to you,” he answered, as indifferently as though he had not been plotting the cruelest wrong in the world.
“But I want the matter settled. I want papa to see you, and I also wanted to tell you——”
She stopped, resolving that she would not tell him of her future prospects until they could confess their secret marriage to her father.