Swanhild, already dressed in her white cashmere and pretty white beaver hat, danced in and out of the room fetching and carrying, and before long the bride, too, was dressed, and with her long tulle veil over the dainty little wreath of real orange blossom from Madame Lechertier’s greenhouse, and the homemade dress which fitted admirably, she walked into the little sitting-room to show herself to Frithiof. “I shall hold up your train, Sigrid, in case the floor is at all dusty,” said Swanhild, much enjoying the excitement of the first wedding in the family, and determined not to think of the parting till it actually came. Frithiof made an involuntary exclamation as she entered the room. “You look like Ingeborg,” he said, “when she came into the new temple of Balder.” “Followed by many a fair attendant maiden, As shines the moon amid surrounding stars,” quoted Swanhild in Norse from the old saga, looking roguishly up at her tall brother. Sigrid laughed and turned to Cecil. “She says that I am the moon and shine with a borrowed light, and that you are the stars with light of your own. By-the-by, where is my other little bridesmaid?” “Gwen is to meet us at the church,” explained Cecil. “Do you know I think the carriage must be waiting, for I see the eldest little Hallifield tearing across the court-yard.” “Then I must say good-by to every one,” said Sigrid; and with one last look round the little home which had grown so dear to them, she took Frithiof’s arm and went out into the long stone passage, where a group of the neighbors stood waiting to see the last of her, and to give her their hearty good wishes. She had a word and a smile for every one, and they all followed her down the stairs and across the court-yard and stood waving their hands as the carriage drove off. That chapter of her life was ended, and the busy hive of workers would no longer count her as queen-bee of the establishment. The cares and troubles and wearing economies were things of the past, but she would take with her and keep forever many happy memories; and many friendships would still last and give her an excuse for visiting afterward the scene of her first home in London. She was quite silent as they drove through the busy streets, her eyes had again that sweet, dreamy look in them that Cecil had noticed earlier in the morning; she did not seem to see outward things, until after a while her eyes met Frithiof’s, and then her face, which had been rather grave, broke into sudden brightness, and she said a few words to him in Norse, which he replied to with a look so full of loving pride and contentment that it carried the sunshine straight into Cecil’s heart. “This marriage is a capital thing for him,” she thought to herself. “He will be happy in her happiness.”