This was Mollie's new prison.
"Elegant simplicity," observed the man, leading her in; "but we will
do our best to make you comfortable during your stay. It need not be
long--you know it depends on yourself, Mollie."
"On myself?"
She turned her pale face and angry, eyes upon him.
"I am your husband by a secret marriage, you know. Let that marriage be
solemnized over again in public--no one need know of the other: consent
to be my wife openly and above-board, and your prison doors will fly
open that hour."
"In Heaven's name, who are you?" cried Mollie, impatiently. "End this
ridiculous farce--remove that disguise--let me see who I am speaking to.
This melodramatic absurdity has gone on long enough--the play is played
out. Talk to me, face to face, like a man, if you dare!"
Her eyes blazed, her voice rose. The old woman looked from one to the
other, "far wide" but in evident curiosity. The man had persisted in
speaking to her in French, and Mollie had answered him in that language.
"Be it as you say!" cried her captor, suddenly; "only remember, Mollie,
whether I am the person you prefer to see under this disguise or not, I
am nevertheless your husband as fast as the Reverend Raymond Rashleigh
can tie the knot.
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