“That will be a very lonesome manner of traveling, sir,” answered the young man, demurely.

“It will be a very cheap one, you mean, and, therefore, will not befit you, Sir Millionaire!  It will cost nothing, and, therefore, lose its only charm for you, my Lord Spendthrift,” cried the miser, sharply.

“On the contrary, sir, I only object to the loneliness of the long journey.”

“No one to chatter to, eh, Mr. Magpie!  Well, it need not be so!  There’s Nace Grimshaw, and his set—­extravagant fools!—­going up to the city to flaunt among the fashionables.  You can go as they go, and chatter to the other monkey, Jacquelina—­and make Old Nace mad with jealousy, so that he shall go and hang himself, and leave you the widow and her fortune!  Come! is there mischief enough to amuse you?  But I know you won’t do it!  I know it!  I know it!  I know it! just because I wish you to!”

“What, sir? drive Dr. Grimshaw to hang himself?”

“No, sir!  I mean you won’t join the party.”

“You mistake, sir.  I will certainly do so, if you wish it,” said Thurston, gravely.

“Humph!  Well, that is something better than I expected.  You can take the new gig, you know, and take Melchisedek to drive you, and to bring it back.”

“Just as you say, sir,” said the young gentleman, with filial compliance.

“And mind, take care that you are not led into any waste of money.”

“I shall take care, sir.”

And here Thurston’s heart was gladdened within him.  He profoundly thanked his stars.  The new gig!  What an opportunity to save Marian the fatigue of an equestrian journey—­offer her an easy seat, and have the blessing of her near companionship for the whole trip!  While his servant, Melchisedek, could ride Marian’s pony.  And this arrangement would be so natural, so necessary, so inevitable, that not even the jealous, suspicious miser could make the least question of its perfect propriety.  For, under the circumstances, what gentleman could leave a lady of his party to travel wearily on horseback, while himself and his servant rode cosily at ease in a gig?  What gentleman would not rather give the lady his seat in the gig—­take the reins himself and drive her, while his servant took her saddle-horse.  So thought Thurston.  Yet he did not hint the subject to his grandfather—­the method of their traveling should seem the impromptu effect of chance.  The next morning being Sunday, he threw himself in Marian’s path, waited for her, and rode with her a part of the way to church.  And while they were in company, he told her of the new arrangement in the manner of traveling, that good fortune had enabled him to make—­that if she would so honor and delight him, he should have her in the gig by his side for the whole journey.  He was so happy, so very happy in the thought, he said.

“And so am I, dearest Thurston! very, very happy in the idea of being with you.  Thank God!” said the warm-hearted girl, offering her hand, which he took and covered with kisses.