They agreed that they must marry at once, this morning, before the doctor could suspect what was toward. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended. "What are you waiting for?" asked Jack, impatiently. Understand once and for all that that answer is final.
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