"I'll carry it further, sir," Mr. Ashton half shouted in a tone so loud I feared his knightly guest would hear; "I'll carry it till I teach you which side your bread's buttered on—I'll see you from the pulpit to the door. It was me that got you here—and I'll get you out, sir, I'll get you out," he flung as a parting threat, turning to make his way back to the dining-room.
My course was clear. I passed our angry host without a word as I climbed the stair; the most ardent days of love and courtship had never found my heart so hungry for the man I loved as it was that moment.
"You must not come," said Gordon, as I swept into the room where he was. "What made you leave, dear—please go back. Things are bad enough as they are."
But I sealed his lips with my burning own and held him one moment in my arms before I turned to make ready for departure. I could see his face brighten with a wonderful light, and I had my reward in the pride and fondness with which his eyes rested on me.
Nobody intercepted, nor did any speak to us, as we made our way out to the street. The night was dark, a few heavy rain-drops beating in our faces.
"Where are you going now?" Gordon asked me as we moved away from the gate.
"I don't know," said I—"only I'm going with you."
"My darling!" was all he said.
"I'm afraid there's going to be a storm," I predicted, looking up at the ill-omened sky after we had walked a little way in silence.
"The storm is past," he said, his arm stealing about me in the dark; "the night is growing beautiful to me—oh, my wife, my darling!"