"Richard Martin! can it be possible!"

"Yea, Mary," answered the other, "I have followed thee to the new world,
in that love which neither sea nor land can abate. For many weary
months I have waited earnestly for such a meeting as this, and, in that
time, I have been in many and grievous perils by the flood and the
wilderness, and by the heathen Indians and more heathen persecutors
among my own people. But I may not tarry, nor delay to tell my errand.
Mary, thou knowest my love; wilt thou be my wife?"

Mary hesitated.

"I ask thee again, if thou wilt share the fortunes of one who hath loved
thee ever since thou wast but a child, playing under the cottage trees
in old Haverhill, and who hath sacrificed his worldly estate, and
perilled his soul's salvation for thy sake. Mary, dear Mary, for of a
truth thou art very dear to me; wilt thou go with me and be my wife?"

The tones of Richard Martin, usually harsh and forbidding, now fell soft
and musical on the ear of Mary. He was her first love, her only one.
What marvel that she consented?

"Let us hasten to depart," said Martin, "this is no place for me. We
will go to the Providence plantations. Passaconaway will assist us in
our journey."

The bright flush of hope and joy faded from the face of the young girl.
She started back from the embrace of her lover.