support herself apart from her family, and away from all who knew her.  No, what he considered was the will of God and the dictates of his conscience.  She had been given into his hands; he was bound to take care of her, and there was but one way to do it.  It would be wrong and cruel to force her back to Redford.  It was preposterous to think of making a governess or companion of her, a daughter of the proud Pennycuicks.  She could not remain in his house as she was, without scandal, although he was a clergyman, with a sister housekeeper.  Here they were now—­past midnight, and practically without a soul in the house—­and he so young still, and, if he might presume to say it, so attractive!

He put the case to her guardedly, gradually, plainly at last, and argued it for a full hour, while she drooped and wept, gazing at the smelly stove and shaking her head wearily.  By the time dawn came, and she was quite worn out, he had won her consent to be his wife, which meant for her a footing somewhere, and at the same time a means to commit suicide without violating the law.

Miss Goldsworthy, who was but his humble slave, came home, put the forlorn girl to bed, and made a wedding breakfast for her while she was there; Mr Goldsworthy took the opportunity to fill up marriage papers in his study.  Ruby was sent to school, as usual.  Before her return therefrom, Mary Pennycuick had been led to the altar of the adjacent church, the white frock in which she had tried to drown herself dried and ironed to make her bridal robe.  A neighbouring clergyman and crony of the bridegroom’s performed the ceremony.  Old Miss Goldsworthy, the chief witness, deposed, bewildered, wept bitterly.  The bride was unmoved—­until little Ruby, returning during the course of the ghastly wedding breakfast, was brought up, giggling and staring, to “kiss her new mamma”, when the new mamma snatched the child to her breast, and went off into wild hysterics.

“There, there,” said the new husband, pleased with the maternal gesture, but alarmed by her excitement, “you are overwrought.  You have had no sleep.  You must come and rest, my dear.  Come and lie down.  You can have Ruby with you, if you like—­while I go and settle things at Redford.  No, I won’t be long; I’ll just see your father, and be back by tea-time.  Have the drawing-room opened, Charlotte”—­it never was opened except for visitors—­“and we will sit there this evening.  And meanwhile, make her some tea or something, and see that she has all she wants.  Come, my love—­”

He led her to the door of a room, and she shrank back from it with a shriek.

“Well, well,” he soothed her; “the spare room, if you like—­”

“Oh, promise me—­promise me—!”

“Yes, yes; just as you wish, darling.  I would not hurry you.”

She turned to Miss Goldsworthy and clung to her.  “Save me! save me!” was what the desperate clutch meant, but what the paralysed tongue could not articulate.