As the boy obeyed, Bartley threw the reins on the dashboard, and leaped out of the cutter, and went within. He returned after a brief absence, followed by the landlord.
“Well, it ain't more 'n a mile 'n a half, if it's that. You just keep straight along this street, and take your first turn to the left, and you're right at the house; it's the first house on the left-hand side.”
“Thanks,” returned Bartley. “Andy, you tell the Squire that you left Marcia with me, and I said I would see about her getting back. You needn't hurry.”
“All right,” said the boy, and he disappeared round the corner of the house to get his horse from the barn.
“Well, I'll be all ready by the time you're here,” said the landlord, still holding the hall-door ajar, “Luck to you!” he shouted, shutting it.
Marcia locked both her hands through Bartley's arm, and leaned her head on his shoulder. Neither spoke for some minutes; then he asked, “Marcia, do you know where you are?”
“With you,” she answered, in a voice of utter peace.
“Do you know where we are going?” he asked, leaning over to kiss her cold, pure cheek.
“No,” she answered in as perfect content as before.
“We are going to get married.”