'In a few days,' replied Fog, setting sail.

Away they flew; and, when out of harbor, the captive was released, and
Waring told him what was required.

'Why didn't you say so before?' said the little blanket-man; 'nothing
I like better than a wedding, and a drop of punch afterwards.'

His task over, Fog relapsed into silence; but Waring, curious, asked
many a question about the island and its inhabitants. The Preacher
responded freely in all things, save when the talk glided too near
himself. The Mormons were not so bad, he thought; they had their
faults, of course, but you must take them on the right side.

'Have they a right side?' asked Waring.

'At least they haven't a rasping, mean, cold, starving, bony,
freezing, busy-bodying side,' was the reply, delivered energetically;
whereat Waring concluded the little man had had his own page of
history back somewhere among the decorous New England hills.

Before they came to the marsh they blindfolded their guest; and did
not remove the bandage until he was safely within the long room of the
castle. Silver met them, radiant in the firelight.

'Heaven grant you its blessing, maiden,' said the Preacher, becoming
Biblical at once. He meant it, however, for he sat gazing at her long
with moistened eyes, forgetful even of the good cheer on the table; a
gleam from his far-back youth came to him, a snow-drop that bloomed