promise might be carried out, it was a matter of indifference. At any
rate, she would escape from her hateful prison. And what mattered it
how, or where, or when the ceremony might be performed?

"Oh, Miss Dalton," said Dudleigh, "forgive me! forgive me! I must go
away in two days. Could you consent to let this be--tomorrow?"

Edith made no reply. She trembled. Her head sank down lower.

"There is one place," said Dudleigh, and then hesitated. Edith said
nothing. There was anguish in her face and in her heart.

"The chapel--"

"The chapel," she repeated, dreamily.

"It is hidden among the trees. Do you know it? It is away from all
observation."

Edith bowed her head. She knew it well. It was off the main avenue--not
far away from the Hall.

"Can you get out of the house after dark?" said Dudleigh, in a feverish
whisper. "It must be after dark, and we must be unobserved. For if
Wiggins were to see us he would come as your guardian, and take you
back, and shut you up--perhaps for life."

This suggestion about Wiggins chimed in with Edith's own fears. It made
her desperate. The marriage seemed less abhorrent; it was eclipsed by
the horrors of imprisonment for life. Discovery now--after that last