Little by little the story came out, and the two young lovers, clasped
so fondly in each other's arms, did not feel the intense cold or hear
the wild moaning of the winds around them. Through her tears Faynie told
her handsome, strong young lover just what had happened. Her father had
sent for her to come to his library that morning, and when she had
complied with the summons, he had informed her that a friend of his had
asked for her hand in marriage, and he had consented, literally settling
the matter without consulting her, the one most vitally interested. She
had most furiously rebelled, there had been a terrible scene, and it had
ended by her father harshly bidding her to prepare for the wedding,
which would take place on the morrow, adding that a father was supposed
to know best what to do for his daughter's interests; that the fiat had
gone forth; that she would marry the husband he had selected for her on
the morrow, though all the angels above or the demons below attempted to
frustrate it.

"You will save me, Lester?" cried the girl, wildly clinging to him with
death-cold hands. "Oh, Lester, my love, tell me, what am I to do? He is
very old, quite forty, and I am only eighteen. I abhor him quite as much
as I love you, Lester. Tell me, dear, what am I to do?"

He gathered her close in his arms in an agony that words are too weak to
portray.

"You shall not, you must not, marry the man your father has selected for
you, my darling. You are mine, Faynie, and you must marry me," he cried,
hoarsely. "Heaven intended us for each other, and for no one else. You
shall be mine past the power of any one human to part us ere the
morrow's light dawns, if--if you wish it so."