Faith's eyes dilated. In an instant everything else was forgotten.
"Go away!" she echoed blankly.
"Yes—only on business—to America. I shall be gone seventeen days, and I go to-morrow."
"To-morrow!" Faith felt as if she was drowning. She did not know that she had turned pale to the lips.
He went on speaking quickly.
"I can't take you—I wish I could. You'd want lots of clothes for one thing, and it would take too long to get them, and to explain things to your mother and the rest of the world. But"—he leaned a little nearer to her over the table—"I've got a special licence in my pocket," he said. "Will you marry me before I go?"
Faith put out both hands blindly and grasped the edge of the table before her. For a moment she felt as if she were blind and deaf; then she drew a long breath.
"Marry you—before you go!" she gasped. "To-day?"
The Beggar Man smiled. "Well, there's hardly time to-day, is there? I thought to-morrow morning—early—about nine, if that is not too early for you."
"I have to be at the factory at half-past seven." She uttered the excuse tremblingly, knowing full well that it was no excuse at all.