It was before. You remember that other time I was carried
off?"
"Oh!"
It was all Mr. Ingelow said; but, singular to relate, he looked
unutterably relieved.
"He married me then--forced me to marry him--and I--Oh, miserable girl
that I am! why did I not die a thousand deaths sooner than consent? But
I was mad, and it's too late now. Mr. Rashleigh married us. You
recollect that story he told at Mrs. Grand's dinner-party? Well, I was
the masked heroine of that adventure; but I never, never, never thought
Guy Oleander was the hero. I'd have died, even then, sooner than become
his wife. I hoped it was--I thought it was--"
She paused abruptly.
"Who?" pointedly asked Hugh Ingelow.
Mollie stole a side-long glance from under her sweeping lashes at the
handsome face.
"Some one who loved me as well, and whom I--well, didn't exactly hate;
and I do hate Doctor Oleander!"
"Which is extremely natural; at the same time wicked, I suppose. Now,
Mollie, don't try to keep awake and talk, because the journey is long
and dreary. Follow Mrs. Sharpe's example and go to sleep.
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