"Won't you take it off?" he suggested--"and see, I have got you some flowers----" and he brought her a great bunch of stephanotis which lay waiting upon a table near.

"There is no orange-blossom--because that is for real weddings--but won't you just put this bit of stephanotis in your hair?" and he broke off a few blooms.

She was delighted, she loved dressing up, and she fixed it most becomingly with dexterous fingers above her left ear.

"You do look sweet," he told her. "Now we must come----" and he gave her his arm. She took it with that grave look of a child acting in a very serious grown-up play. She was perfectly delicious with her blooming youth and freshness and dimples--her violet eyes shining like stars, and her red full lips pouting like appetizing ripe cherries. Michael trembled a little as he felt her small hand upon his arm.

They walked to the altar rails and the ceremony began.

But, with the first words of the old clergyman's voice, a new and unknown excitement came over Sabine. The night and the gorgeous chapel and the candles and the flowers all affected her deeply, just as the grand feast days used to do at the convent. A sudden realization of the mystery of things overcame her and frightened her, so that her voice was hardly audible as she repeated the clergyman's words.

What were these vows she was making before G.o.d? She dared not think--the whole thing was a maze, a dream. It was too late to run away--but it was terrible--she wanted to scream.

At last she felt her bridegroom place the ring upon her finger, now ice cold.

And then she was conscious that she was listening to these words:

"Those whom G.o.d hath joined together let no man put asunder."

After that she must have reeled a little, for she felt a strong arm encircle her waist for a moment.

Then she knew she was kneeling and that words of no meaning whatever were being buzzed over her head.

And lastly she was vividly awakened to burning consciousness by the first man's kiss which had ever touched her innocent lips.

So she was married--and this was her husband, this splendid, beautiful young man there beside her in his evening clothes--and it was over--and she was going away and would never see him again--and what had she done?--and would G.o.d be very angry?--since it was all really in a church!

Her hand trembled as she wrote her name, Sabine Delburg, for the last time, and she was shivering all over as she walked back with her newly-made husband to his sitting-room through the gloomy corridor.

There it was all brilliant light again, the light of soft silk-shaded lamps--and the center table was cleared and supper for two and opened champagne awaited them. They were both very pale, and Sabine sat down in a chair.

"Mr. Fergusson will bring a copy of the certificate in a minute,"

Michael said to her, "and then we can have some supper--but now, come, we must drink each other's healths."

He poured out the wine into two gla.s.ses and handed her one. She had never tasted champagne before--but sipped it as she was bid. It did not seem to her a very nice drink--not to be compared to _sirop aux fraises_--but she knew at weddings people always had champagne.

Michael gulped down a b.u.mper, and it steadied his nerves and the fresh, vigorously healthy color came back to his face. The whole situation had excited his every sense.

"Let me wish you all joy--Mrs.--Arranstoun!" he said.

The little bride laughed her rippling laugh. This brought her back to earth and the material, jolly side of things, it was so funny to hear herself thus called.

"Oh! that does sound odd!" she cried. "I shall never call myself that--why, people might know I must be something connected with this castle, and they would be questioning, and I couldn't have a sc.r.a.p of fun! You have got another name--you said it just now, 'Michael Howard Arranstoun'--that will do. I shall be Mrs. Howard! It is quite ordinary--and shall I be a widow? I've never thought of all this yet.

Oh! it will be fun."

Every second of the time her charm was further affecting Michael--he was not conscious of any definite intention--only to talk to her--to detain her as long as possible. She was like a breath of exquisite spring air after Violet Hatfield.

Mr. Fergusson here came in from the chapel with the certificate--and his presence seemed a great bore, and after thanking him for his services, Michael poured him out some wine to drink their healths, and then the butler announced that the brougham was waiting at the door to take the old gentleman home.

Sabine had stood up on his entrance and came forward to wish him good-bye; now that the certificate was there she intended to go herself by the balcony steps as soon as he should be safely off by the door.

"Good-bye, my dear young lady, I have known your husband since he was born, and with all his faults he is a splendid fellow; let me wish you every happiness and prosperity together and may you be blessed with many children and peace."

Sabine stiffened--she felt she ought to enlighten the benevolent old man, who evidently did not understand at all that she was going to trip off--not as he, just to her own home, but out of Mr. Arranstoun's life forever--but no suitable words would come, and Michael, afraid of what she might say, hurried his chaplain off without more ado and then returned to her and shut the door.

Now they were absolutely alone and the clock struck ten in the courtyard with measured strokes.

"Let us begin supper," he said, with what calmness he could.

"But I ought to go back at once," his bride protested; "the Inn may be shut and then what in the world should I do?"

"There is plenty of time, it certainly won't close its doors until eleven--have some soup--or a cold quail and some salad--and see, I have not forgotten the wedding-cake--you must cut that!"

Sabine was very hungry; she had had to pretend her head was aching too much to go with her elders to the ruins of Elbank and had retired to her room before they left, and had had no tea, and such dainties were not to be resisted, especially the cake! After all, it could not be any harm staying just this little while longer since no one would ever know, and people who got married always did cut their own cakes. So she sat down and began, he taking every care of her. They had the merriest supper, and even the champagne, more of which he gave her, did not taste so nasty after the first sip.

She had quail and salad and a wonderful ice--better than any, even on the day of the holiday for Moravia's wedding far away in Rome; and there were marrons glaces, too, and other divine bon-bons--and strawberries and cream!

She had never enjoyed herself so much in her whole life. Her perfectly innocent prattle enchanted Michael more and more with its touches of shrewd common sense. He drank a good deal of champagne, too--and finally, when it came to cutting the cake time, a wild thought began to enter his head.

The icing was rather hard, and he had to help her--and stood beside her, very near.

She looked up smilingly and saw something in his face. It caused her a sudden wild emotion of she knew not what--and then she felt very nervous and full of fear.

She moved abruptly away from him to the other side of the table, leaving the cake--and stood looking at him with great, troubled, violet eyes.

He followed her.

"You little, sweet darling!" he whispered, his voice very deep. "Why should you ever go away from me--I want to teach you to love me, Sabine.

You belong to me, you know--you are mine. I shall not let you leave me!

I shall keep you and hold you close!"

And he clasped her in his arms.

For he was a man, you see--and the moment had come!

CHAPTER V

FIVE YEARS AFTERWARDS

Mr. Elias Cloudwater came up the steps of the Savoy Hotel at Carlsbad, and called to the Arab who was waiting about:

"Has the Princess come in from her drive yet?"

He was informed that she had not, and he sat down in the verandah to wait. He was both an American gentleman and an American father, therefore he was accustomed to waiting for his women folk and did not fidget. He read the _New York Herald_, and when he had devoured the share list, he glanced at the society news and read that, among others who were expected at the Bohemian health resort that day, was Lord Fordyce, motoring, for a stay of three weeks for the cure.