201707101225vehicles that threatened to demolish
Was it a sob he heard coming from the girl's lips? Ida May seemed to have suddenly awakened to a sense of what she had done. A brief half hour since she had been in the midst of a brilliant party, and now, scarcely knowing how it had come about, she found herself flying with the handsome lover, whom she had known but a few short weeks, going she knew not whither.
The awakening came to her like a terrible shock.
"Royal!" she cried, "oh, Royal, what have we done? Where are we going? I did not mean to run away. I must have been mad. Let us go back again!"
As she spoke, the great clock from some adjoining tower struck the hour of twelve .
"We are too late," he said. "We have burned our bridges behind us. They are unmasking now, and they have missed you. They will soon institute a search."
She clasped his arm.
"Oh, Royal! I must tell you all!"
The hot, trembling hand clung to him, the lovely young face was full of awful grief.
"My own darling!" he cried, leaning over and rapturously embracing her, though in doing so he nearly caused her to fall from her wheel.
Suddenly the heavens overhead seemed to darken, the wind to freshen, and the booming of the waves, as they dashed heavily against the shore, sounded dismally in the distance.
"We must make haste," said Royal Ainsley; "there is a storm coming up. I think we could save nearly half a mile by cutting across this field."
He swung open a gate opening out into a broad patch of land, and Ida rode in.
It was early the next morning when the Newport express steamed into the Grand Central Depot.
Royal Ainsley cast a furtive glance around him as he stepped upon the platform. He had quite expected a dozen or more detectives to spring forward, for, of course, the telegraph wires had been busy during the night.
They would no doubt be waiting to arrest him for abducting the heiress. But when he had blandly informed them that lovely Ida May was his wife, what could they do but fall back abashed and disconcerted.
To his great surprise, he seemed to create no sensation whatever. No one even noticed him as he joined the throng, with Ida May clinging tightly to his arm.
"I will give them some little trouble to find us," he thought to himself.
He knew of a quiet, aristocratic family hotel facing the park, and placing Ida in a carriage, he took a seat beside her, and directed the driver to proceed as quickly as possible to the place indicated.
Whirling through the streets of gay New York was quite a sensation to Ida, who had never been outside of her own country village, save for that fateful trip to Newport.
With Royal clasping her two little fluttering hands in one of his strong white ones, his left arm holding her close as the cab rattled up Broadway, her fear of the noise, the great rush of people hurrying hither and thither, and the great crush of them every moment, gradually subsided as they rode along.
They reached their destination, and a moment more were ushered into the little white-and-gold parlor.
"We will have the best breakfast that they can prepare," said Royal, "and then I shall take you to see the sights of the city."
He was obliged to take the hotel clerk into his confidence.
"It's an elopement," he whispered in the clerk's ear. "My bride is the heiress of the wealthy Mays, of Boston. There may be a deuce of a row when they trace us to this place, but it will end all right by the fatted calf being killed for us. But as for the breakfast, how long will it take to prepare it studio for rent?"