“Here!” sounded the stentorian voice of Jason Hammond.

Upon turning back, however, he found not Minnie, but another small maiden near him.  He darted again into the Star Chamber just as the fleet steps of Minnie Dare ran toward him.  Not, however, in time to prevent his discerning among the shadows Eldon Brand hurrying to her side.

Catching the girl’s tender arm in a vise-like grip, the man hissed in her ear,—­

“By Heaven, my girl, if you don’t stop philandering in the dark with that young scoundrel, I’ll pitch him into the first pit I see!  You belong to me, and I’ll kill you before another shall have you!”

With a cry of mingled pain and terror the girl broke from him.  Eldon Brand, who had seen the gesture without hearing the words, sprung with uplifted arm toward the man.  Ere he could strike he was seized from behind by strong arms, and a voice urged,—­

“Don’t, Brand!  For Heaven’s sake, let that ruffian alone till we get out of this.  You will frighten the ladies, get yourself into the newspapers, and play the deuce generally.  Come on—­they are calling in front.”

Hammond had seen this little by-play, and would not soon forget it; but at present he strode on after the girl.

“Why don’t you fellows keep up?” grumbled a voice as the delinquents entered the Chapel.

“Did anybody fall?  I thought I heard a cry back there,” said the tall young lady peering suspiciously into the group; but all seemed serene in the fitful torchlight.

In the Chapel huge stalactites and stalagmites meet each other to form arm-chairs, thrones, alcoves, pulpits, and a double niche conspicuous among its surroundings.  Standing within this niche a restless pair exclaimed: 

“What a capital place to be married!  Who will pronounce the ceremony?”

“Bless you, my children!” invoked a sober-looking fellow, extending his arms in mock solemnity.

An earnest, significant look flashed from Eldon Brand’s eyes into the still blanched face of Minnie Dare.  As they met the glance it bore but one meaning to her, and the rosy color again mantled her cheek.

“Time’s up,” said the guide; “come along.”

It was late ere the party completed the tour of the Short Route wonders, and there was barely time to dress for the ball-room at Cave Hotel, a dance being an attractive interlude between journeyings.

Indoor etiquette forbade the hateful espionage to which Hammond had subjected the girl he claimed as his own during the informal jaunt of the day.  So at ten o’clock, despite the scowl on his dark face, she stood up in the dance with Eldon Brand.

Perhaps her persecutor might have attuned his wooing to something less ferocious, but soft words having proved futile, he sought to frighten her into compliance.  Love’s dallying might come later on.  He deemed his prize secure.  She could not escape him.  He held her father’s honor—­aye, his very life—­in his relentless grasp; for Colonel Dare was not a man who could survive disgrace.  Let her rebel, and the world should hear an ugly story of rash speculation, involving a ward’s trust money; of financial ruin and despair.  Oh, yes—­she was his, fast and sure.