"Oh," I exclaimed, drawing a long breath, "I'm so glad—the paper they'd choose would give me the jimjams, I know. Well, tell me."
"We're not going to the old stone manse at all," he said, turning and looking radiantly at me in the moonlight. "We're not going to Rocanville—I've got a call, Helen."
"Where?" I gasped, leaning forward with my elbows on his knees, caring not who saw. "And why didn't you tell me—— Oh, Gordon, did you feel you couldn't trust me?" my voice trembling a little as the first pang of conjugal sorrow smote my bosom.
He laughed; then stooped and kissed me, having previously cast a swift Scotch glance about the deck. "I'd trust you with my life, my darling," he murmured—which comforted me a good deal. "But I wasn't exactly sure till two or three days ago—and I wanted to surprise you—and I wanted always to think that when my Helen gave herself to me, she thought she was going into the wilds for love's sweet sake. So it will always be just as precious to me as if you had actually gone."
"But where are we going?" I pressed eagerly, not lingering on the sweetness; "don't keep me waiting, Gordon."
"To Old Point Comfort," he said with the most provoking deliberation.
"Don't tease me, dearest," I protested. Wonderful, isn't it, how brides always employ the tenderest names when they are just a little bit exasperated.
And then he told me where it was we were to begin our married life. The church that had called us was named St. Andrew's; and it was the leading church, Gordon said, in Hertford, a Canadian city that shall so be named. "At least," he hastened to add, "it's the richest church, has the richest class of people in it—whether that makes it the leading church or not."
"Oh, I'm so glad," I exclaimed breathlessly, my face aglow. "So that's why you wanted me to be so careful of my wedding dress? Isn't it all like a lovely fairy tale? And are we going there right away?"
"Yes—after we leave Point Comfort. I'm to be installed there a week from to-day—and there's to be a reception to us in the evening."