THE DESPERATE BRIDAL.

Church laughed: it might have been in derision of the charge which Hudson had made against him, or that he accepted it as a triumphant fact.

The laugh sent a shiver through the young girl, who, till that moment, had rested like a dead creature on her father's bosom. The words of her father had aroused her to consciousness; that answering laugh kindled all her realized life into rage, silent and bitter as death. A hot, red color flashed in and out of her face, kindling it as with living fire one moment, and leaving it like ashes the next. The conviction that Church had conspired to murder her husband, fastened upon her from that moment.

"Are you better, Constance?" Church inquired, in his low, soft voice.

"Better? Oh, yes! I am much better, thank you," she answered, in a voice so hoarse and changed, that it disturbed him with momentary doubts.

"Then why not go in, as I had arranged? The minister is ready; your father is willing, I answer for that. You shall never repent it, Constance, for I love you dearly."

Hudson, whose arm was still around Constance, felt her shiver at these words as if a cold blast were sweeping by—but she did not speak.

"If I have any power over your father, such as he has told you of, it will end the moment you become my wife."

Again some cold blast seemed to pass over the girl. She leaned toward her father and whispered,

"Is this so? Would it save you from him?"

"He has the notes—let him give them up," was the faint reply.

Church heard it, and answered,

"Consent, Constance, and they shall be given up before we leave the carriage."

She looked steadily through the carriage-window and spoke like one in a trance.

"Give them to me here, and this moment! It is in me to break his chains now. In another hour—who knows how I may feel in another hour?"

Hudson held his breath; the next moment might set him free of an awful fear—but he thought of the cost and interfered.

"No, Constance."

"Father, I will!"

"But take a little time—this news has driven you mad."

"Then I am the more fit for this work. Yes, sir, I _am_ mad! I thirst for something that will surely come to your cost if you marry me so. Have you the courage?"

"Have I the courage to marry you, Constance? Yes; if I had to pass through an army of demons to reach the altar."

"When you know that I do not love you; that I hate myself for ever having taken your gifts, or listened to you for one minute; that I look upon you as—as——"

"Only look upon me as your husband; as a man who adores you, and will _make_ you love him. That will be enough!"

"But I warn you."

"Dear Constance, you are angry now—you think that I have been harsh with your father. It was you that made me so. When I saw you attempting to evade me, that was all the power I had to hold you back. I am his friend. When you are my wife, his interests will be mine—I will befriend him as no son-in-law ever did before."

Constance lifted her hand to check him.

"Give me those papers."

Church beckoned to the man who had gone back to the side-walk, and was pacing up and down in a slow, thoughtful way.

"Here," he said, reaching forth his hand, and dropping some money into the other's palm, "we shall not need you. Good-morning."

The man bowed and walked away, whistling softly to himself.

When the persons in the carriage were left to themselves, Church drew forth a small package from his pocket and handed it to Hudson, who shrank back at first; but on the second instant snatched at it eagerly, and began to look the papers over with trembling hands.

Constance watched him steadily, her features hard and white, her eyes glittering.

"They are right—they are all here; but, oh! my child, rather than see you so sacrificed, I would gladly go with that man."

"Hush, father!"

Constance drew the travelling shawl around her shoulders, and arose.

"Come, father, and see your chains drop away."

Church descended from the carriage and reached out his hand. She did not touch it, but stepped to the pavement without help, and walked firmly up the steps.

Hudson followed unsteadily, like a drunken man shivering and reeling in his walk, holding the forged notes tightly in his grasp, and looking at them every other moment, as if they had been serpents that could sting him.

Thus, filled with bitter antagonism, each soul in revolt against the other, these three persons entered the clergyman's dwelling.