When Alice came out of her room dressed for the marriage ceremony she looked quaintly lovely. Old Pallas sobbed as she looked at her, and her father wiped the dimness again and again from his eyes; for it was as if the fair young bride of long ago had come to life. Philip had made it an especial request that she should dress in a costume similar to that she wore when he first loved her; and her father had told her to provide no wedding-robe, as he wished her to wear one of his own choosing. She had been attired in the bridal robe and vail, the high-heeled satin slippers, the long white gloves which had lain so many years in the mysterious trunk. Philip's gift, a bandeau of pearls, shone above a brow not less pure--set in the golden masses of her hair. Virginia laid aside her mourning for that day, appearing in a fleecy muslin robe, as bride-maid, and none the less queenly on account of the simplicity of her dress. Her face had gained an expression of gentleness which added very much to her superb attractions, and which was not unnoticed by her companion in the ceremonies. The words had been said which made the betrothed pair man and wife. A more romantic wedding seldom has occurred than was this, in which wealth and elegance were so intimately combined with the rude simplicity of frontier life. To see those beautiful and richly-dressed ladies flitting in and out the modest house buried in the shadows of the western woods; the luxurious viands of the cook's producing served upon the plainest of delf, to have the delicate and the rough so contrasted, made a pretty and effective picture against the sunshine of that September day. The spirit of the scene was felt and enjoyed by all, even the venerable clergyman--rich voices and gay laughter blent with the murmur of the river--fond, admiring eyes followed every motion of the bride. The bride! where was the bride? She had been standing on the lawn, just in front of the door with Mrs. Raymond, who was saying-- "'Happy is the bride the sun shines on,'" just the previous moment; Mrs. Raymond had run down to the river-bank, and was throwing pebbles in the water. Mr. Wilde, ever apprehensive, ever vigilant, had just missed her, and was turning to inquire of the bridegroom, when a shriek, wild, sharp, agonizing, paralyzed for an instant every faculty of the listeners. "Great God, it is that madman!" burst from the father's lips. Philip and he sprang out-of-doors together, just in time to see her borne into the forest, flung like an infant over the shoulder of her abductor, who was making great leaps along the path with the speed and strength of a panther. The two men appointed as guards were running after him. Mr. Wilde sprang for his rifle--the bridegroom waited for nothing. "Don't shoot!" he shouted to the men; "you will kill the girl!" Philip reached and distanced the men; the raftsman, strong and tall, and accustomed to the woods, passed him even, madly as he exerted himself.