No doubt old man Grimes and his wife, if they
awoke in the course of the night, groaned deep prayers in response
to the bright light from the windows of the haunted house. Shaw
and Penelope smiled securely as they listened to the howling storm
outside.
"Well, this _is_ trespassing," she said, beaming a happy smile upon
him.
"I shall be obliged to drive you out, alas," he said reflectively. "Do
you recall my vow? As long as you are a Bazelhurst, I must perforce
eject you."
"Not to-night!" she cried in mock dismay.
"But, as an alternative, you'll not be a Bazelhurst long," he went on
eagerly, suddenly taking her hands into his, forgetful of the wounded
left. "I'm going to try trespassing myself. To-morrow I'm going to see
your brother. It's regular, you know. I'm going to tell the head of
your clan that you are coming over to Shaw, heart and hand."
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "You--you--no, no! You must not do that!"
"But, my dear, you _are_ going to marry me."
"Yes--I--suppose so," she murmured helplessly. "That isn't what I
meant. I mean, it isn't necessary to ask Cecil. Ask me; I'll consent
for him."
Half an hour passed. Then he went to the window and looked out into
the storm.
"You _must_ lie down and get some sleep," he insisted, coming back
to her. "The storm's letting up, but we can't leave here for quite a
while. I'll sit up and watch. I'm too happy to sleep." She protested,
but her heavy eyes were his allies. Soon he sat alone before the fire;
she slept sound on the broad couch in the corner, a steamer rug across
her knees.
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