dered each other, themselves and their entire families, in order to prove to the world at large how passionately and unselfishly attached they were to one another. These things passed quickly through my father's mind as he stood with his betrothed on their wedding eve beneath the gracious moon. A fearful abyss seemed to be instantly revealed about his feet. If he married her? He took a sudden resolution. He did not marry her."
I imagine that the itinerant photographer dropped some extra sensitive plates. The first prison warder made an observation about the weather, the second one another about the time, and every other person present consulted his watch, looked eagerly out of the window or removed a quite unimportant speck of dust. Out of this conventional group stand Jaffer, Jan and Urchid, who sympathetically remarked:
"'Twan't right."
"'Twasn't."
"'Twadn't."
"It was, perhaps, rather late in the day to draw back, but doubtless my father applied to the case the specious reasoning of Tarquin. 'A little harm, done to a great good end,' and really did convince himself that in the long run less suffering would be inflicted upon Christabel than if she was tied for life to one who, he candidly admitted to himself, would develop into a very objectionable character under her cramping influence. The marriage was to have been a runaway one: in fact they had already run away, and the ceremony had only been postponed from day to day through some mistake in fulfilling one of the necessary formalities. Acting upon his resolve my father now ran away still further, leaving behind him a note in which he frankly explained his position.
"The result of his decision was unfortunate for myself.
