As she walked beside him along the country road on the other
shore a voice was ringing in her ears: "Don't! Don't! Ask
Olivia's advice first!" But she walked on, her will suspended,
substituted for it his will and her jealousy and her fears of his
yielding to the urgings of his father and the blandishments of
"that Cleveland girl." He said little but kept close to her,
watching her narrowly, touching her tenderly now and then.

The Reverend Josiah Barker was waiting for them--an oily smirk on
a face smooth save where a thin fringe of white whiskers dangled
from his jaw-bone, ear to ear; fat, damp hands rubbing in
anticipation of the large fee that was to repay him for
celebrating the marriage and for keeping quiet about it
afterward. At the proper place in the brief ceremony Dumont,
with a sly smile at Pauline which she faintly returned, produced
the ring--he had bought it at Saint X a week before and so had
started a rumor that he and Caroline Sylvester were to be married
in haste. He held Pauline's hand firmly as he put the ring on
her finger--he was significantly cool and calm for his age and
for the circumstances. She was trembling violently, was pale and
wan. The ring burned into her flesh.

"Whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder," ended
Barker, with pompous solemnity.

Dumont kissed her--her cheek was cold and at the touch of his
lips she shuddered.

"Don't be afraid," he said in a low voice that was perfectly
steady.