"It is as though I had belonged to you always, you old Rock of
Gibraltar! and anything that happens now will come from the outside,
and not from the inside, won't it, dear?"
"Yes, sweetheart," said Orde.
"Poor mother! I wonder how she'll take it."
"We'll soon know, anyway," replied Orde, a little grimly.
In the hallway of the Bishop house Orde kissed her.
"Be brave, sweetheart," said he, "but remember that now you're my
wife."
She nodded at him gravely and disappeared.
Orde sat in the dim parlour for what seemed to be an interminable
period. Occasionally the sounds of distant voices rose to his ear
and died away again. The front door opened to admit some one, but
Orde could not see who it was. Twice a scurrying of feet overhead
seemed to indicate the bustle of excitement. The afternoon waned.
A faint whiff of cooking, escaping through some carelessly open
door, was borne to his nostrils. It grew dark, but the lamps
remained unlighted. Finally he heard the rustle of the portieres,
and turned to see the dim form of the general standing there.
"Bad business! bad business!" muttered the old man. "It's very hard
on me. Perhaps you did the right thing--you must be good to her--
but I cannot countenance this affair.
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