"Suppose you had
been hurt?" he added, reproachfully. She did not reply, and they rode on at
full speed. They had once more left their pursuers behind; but as the
church was now only a few miles away, and they needed every spare moment
there, they urged their horses to renewed effort.
"There is the church now, and it's lighted up," cried the Colonel,
joyfully, as they dashed around a bend in the road, pointing to a little
one-story building tucked away amid trees and under-brush beside the
turnpike. In the doorway the minister stood waiting for them--a tall young
man whose ruddy face, broad shoulders, and humorous blue eyes suggested the
relationship the Colonel had mentioned. As they pulled up, the young
minister came forward and was introduced by the Colonel as "My cousin, Jim
Bradley." While they were both assisting Miss Braxton to dismount and
fastening the horses, the Colonel, in a few words, told of the pursuit and
of the necessity of haste. Mr. Bradley led the way into the church, the
lovers following arm in arm. It was a plain whitewashed little room, with
wooden benches for the worshippers, and a narrow aisle leading up to the
platform, where stood the preacher's pulpit.
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