Mrs. Sherwood did not care to ask what the sum amounted to; but having a poor opinion of her husband’s literary efforts, she considered that it could not be much.

“I hope you will not regret this hasty step, Dexie,” as Dexie came to her side to wish her good-bye.  “You cannot expect me to think kindly of you when you leave me in such a way as this.”

“Well, mamma, you know I am obliged to seek the protection of a husband that has been denied me as a daughter; I hope you will not miss me very much.  Will you not kiss me good-bye?”

Her mother turned her cheek, but Dexie waited in vain for the kind parting word she longed for.

“I am sorry to leave you, mamma.  Think kindly of me sometimes.  Guy takes me because he thinks I need his love and care.”

“Go to him, then!  You have made your choice!”

With this dismissal, Dexie hurried to the hall where Guy was awaiting her, wiping her eyes as she went.

“Well, for my part, I’m glad to see the last of you,” said Gussie, following slowly after her sister.  “You have always stood in my way, and your Puritanical notions have spoiled many pleasures for me; so whatever tears I shed will be tears of joy.”

“Thank you, Gussie; that speech is all that is needed to remove every vestige of regret I may have felt at leaving home,” was Dexie’s reply, an unusual light in her dark eyes.  “Come, Guy, I am quite ready,” and without turning her head she passed out the door of her own home to the untried future that she was to share with Guy Traverse.

“My heart aches for you, my darling,” and Guy pressed the hand that rested on his arm.  “Let Gussie shed her tears of joy while she can, for, if I am not mistaken, they will flow for another cause before the week is out.”

CHAPTER XLIV.

A kinder welcome could not be imagined than Dexie received from Guy’s sister when they arrived in Boston, for Mrs. Graham had heard so much of Guy’s “little girl” that she took Dexie to her heart at once.

The mental disquietude and physical weariness that she had passed through kept Dexie confined to her room for two days, but on the morning of her third day in Boston she stepped out the church-door a willing, happy bride.

“Really, I can hardly believe that I have been turned into a married woman since I entered the church,” she said softly, as Guy seated her in the carriage.  “Does it seem real to you, Guy?”

“Well, hardly, dearest; but I am going to prove the reality of it, and use the authority just granted to me, by insisting that you put aside the thoughts that have made your face so sad.  Let us think of the new, happy life before us, and forget the trials we have passed through.  We are going to be very happy together, my little wife.”

“Yes, I am sure of that.  I believe our quiet and unconventional wedding will bring us quite as much happiness as if we had been married with all the fuss that generally attends affairs of this kind.”