wide open arms, she jumped laughingly into the carriage, then turned for a
last kiss from the Colonel.

"Here, out with you Joe," Vickers exclaimed to the coachman. "I'll drive
them down to the station. Quick now,--they mustn't lose the express!"

He bundled the old man from the seat, gathered up the reins with a
flourish, and whipped the fresh horses. The bride's last look, as the
carriage shot through the bunch of oleanders at the gate, gathered in the
group of waving, gesticulating men and women, and above them on the steps
the Colonel, with his sweet, half-humorous smile, her mother at his side,
already greatly relieved, and behind all the serious face of Alice
Johnston, the one who knew the mysteries both tender and harsh, and who
could still call it all good! ...

Vickers whisked them to the station in a trice, soothing his excitement by
driving diabolically, cutting corners and speeding down hill. At the
platform President Beals's own car was standing ready for them, the two
porters at the steps. The engine of the special was to take them to the
junction where the "Bellefleur" would be attached to the night express,--a
special favor for the President of the A. and P. The Senator had insisted
on their having his camp in the Adirondacks for a month. Isabelle would
have preferred her own little log hut in the firs of Dog Mountain, which
she and Vickers had built. There they could be really quite alone, forced
to care for themselves. But the Colonel could not understand her bit of
sentiment, and John thought they ought not to offend the amiable Senator,
who had shown himself distinctly friendly. So they were to enter upon their
new life enjoying these luxuries of powerful friends.

The porters made haste to put the bags in the car, and the engine snorted.