CHAPTER XII.
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
Walter Clifford and Mary sat at a late breakfast in a little inn that looked upon a lake, which appeared to them more lovely than the lake of Thun or of Lucerne.

He beamed steadily at her with triumphant rapture; she stole looks at him of wonder, admiration, and the deepest love.
As they had nothing now to argue about, they only spoke a few words at a time, but these were all musical with love.
To them, as we dramatists say, entered Mrs.Easton, with signs of hurry.
"Miss Mary--" said she.
"Mrs.Mary," suggested Walter, meekly.
Mrs.Mary blew him a kiss.
"Ay, ay," said Mrs.Easton, smiling.

"Of course you will both hate me, but I have come to take you home, Mistress Mary." "Home!" said Mary; "why, this feels like home." "No doubt," said Mrs.Easton, "but, for all that, in half an hour we must start." The married couple remonstrated with one accord, but Mrs.Easton was firm.

"I dreamed," said she, "that we were all found out--and that's a warning.

Mr.Walter, you know that you'll be missed at Clifford Hall, and didn't ought to leave your father another day.