'It is time to start,' said the impatient bridegroom. 'How long you
have been, Fog!'

The old man made no answer, but busied himself arranging the boat; the
voyage to Mackinac would last two or three days, and he had provided
every possible comfort for their little camps on shore.

'Come,' said Waring, from below.

Then the father went up to say good by. Silver flung her arms around
his neck and burst into tears. 'Father, father,' she sobbed, 'must I
leave you? O father, father!'

He soothed her gently; but something in the expression of his calm,
pallid face touched the deeper feelings of the wakening woman and she
clung to him desperately, realizing, perhaps, at this last moment, how
great was his love for her, how great his desolation. Waring had
joined them on the balcony. He bore with her awhile and tried to calm
her grief, but the girl turned from him and clung to the old man; it
was as though she saw at last how she had robbed him. 'I cannot leave
him thus,' she sobbed; 'O father, father!'

Then Waring struck at the root of the difficulty. (Forgive him; he was
hurt to the core.) 'But he is not your father,' he said, 'he has no
claim upon you. I am your husband now, Silver, and you must come with
me; do you not wish to come with me, darling?' he added, his voice
sinking into fondness.

'Not my father!' said the girl. Her arms fell, and she stood as if