“Hasten on—hasten on!” The rattle of the train still repeating those words, and Ella’s heart sinking, as they sped through the darkness; for still, in spite of her struggle with reason, it would seem as if they were ever going back. Her brain seemed at times unable to support the stress placed upon it—the excitement more than she could bear.

She gazed out upon the black night, but only to see in the dim breath-blurred glass the interior of the carriage reproduced, with the dark-blue cloth padding, the silent passengers, the globe lamp, and Max Bray seated opposite, with his eyes glittering as if ready to spring at her each instant. She could at any moment have succumbed, become weak and helpless, and trembled at her forlorn condition; but the brave spirit held up, although incipient fever was claiming her for its own, and a strange unnatural throbbing in the pulses of her temple told where the peril lay.

Plymouth at last!—the train’s resting-place for the night; and again quiet and thoughtful, Max engaged a fly, wrapper and luggage were placed therein, and, quiet and gentlemanlike, he talked to her till they reached one of the principal hotels, where Ella gladly sought her chamber, and tried to find in sleep the relief from the mental strain she so sadly needed.

But all through the early hours of that wintry morning came to torture her the endless repetition of those words: “Hasten on—hasten on!” while her burning head seemed chained to the pillow by links heated to redness.

Again and again she started up, to gaze round the dark room, thinking that a voice whose tones she so well remembered was calling her; but, with a sigh, she sank back once more, to doze and listen in her sleep to the endless warning, “Hasten on—hasten on!”

She descended to breakfast pale, restless, and excited. She could not eat, though pressed again and again by Max, who was gentle and attentive, asking with every show of consideration respecting her health.

“I have made all arrangements and inquiries,” he said, “and been down to the station this morning. Our train leaves at ten.”

“Not till ten?” she said in a disappointed tone.

He smiled as he drew forth his watch.

“It is half-past nine now,” he said. “We have only time to get comfortably down to the station.”

Ella rose and left the room, to return in a few minutes ready to continue the journey; but during her absence, Max had placed a letter in the waiter’s hand, with an accompanying half-sovereign.

“To be posted in a week’s time,” were the instructions.

“More wrecks down in the bay,” said Max, as Ella re-entered the room. “It has been a sad winter!”

“Let us—let us—hasten on,” she said with an effort; and leading her out, they were soon in the station, and secured their seats in an empty compartment, where Ella took her place by the window, to gaze abstractedly out at the damp sodden landscape for quite an hour.

“Have we far to go now?” she asked of Max, who sat watching her.

“Not much farther,” he said.

And again she asked that question at the end of an hour, and of another hour, but always to receive the same answer.

“Is it not less than a hundred miles from Plymouth to Penzance?” she at length asked uneasily.

“Yes,” he said; “but you are travelling now upon a line of rail where stoppages are frequent and there is no speed. Bai Jove, though, they ought to be prosecuted for dawdling so.”

Max smiled as he said those words, for his plan was nearly ripe; and that smile was not lost upon his companion. But she said nothing, only sat there pale, excited, and watchful till another hour had elapsed, during which time the well-fee’d guard had not intruded another passenger.

But this could not last for ever. One moment silent and watchful, the next moment with the full conviction of how she had been betrayed upon her, Ella Bedford sprang up and tried to open the door, the train dashing along at the rate of forty miles an hour.

There was a strong pair of hands upon her wrists, though, in an instant, and she was forced back into her seat.

“Silly child!” exclaimed Max, with an insolent laugh. “What are you going to do?”

“We are going back!” exclaimed Ella, struggling to free herself.

“Well, not exactly,” he said, laughing, and now throwing off all disguise.

“Where are you taking me?” she exclaimed.

“O, only into North Wales, my trembling little dove,” laughed Max, as he held his captive firmly in her place. “Now look here, little one: every dog has his day. It is mine now, and I mean to make use of it. You have braved and jilted me long enough, and it is my turn now. There, you need not struggle; it is of no use. Let’s quietly look at the state of affairs. What have you done? Well, you’ve made an excuse to Mrs Marter, something about going to see a sick friend, and, bai Jove—not to put too fine a point on it—you have eloped with me, Maximilian Bray. I’ve no doubt our dear friend Mrs Marter has sent word of it to Mrs Brandon by this time. Mrs Brandon will ............