“So appropriate under the circumstances,” murmured the admiring friends who had gathered to do honor to the occasion; and indeed the fair-haired, blue-eyed girl had never looked more lovely than when she stood at the altar in her pure white raiment, and plighted her vows to the one to whom she had been so true through the dark hours of adversity as well as in prosperity. She had loved him while yet a poor boy serving in her father’s office; she had loved and bravely defended him when he stood before the judge and was unjustly condemned, and during the three weary years that followed; and the depth of that love she testified when she almost sacrificed her life to preserve his character from dishonor. Not less did she love him now, as he stood by her side, grand noble, and honored by all, as the Marquis of Wycliffe and Viscount Wayne, and possessor of a proud inheritance—an old and honored name. But she would have loved him just as fondly, she would have wedded him just as proudly, had he been simple Earle Wayne, without a dollar in his pocket or a foot of land, save what his own strong right arm had won for himself. It was the noble spirit, the stainless character, the firm, unwavering rectitude and honor that had won her heart’s devotion; and yet his position and wealth were not valueless in her sight; they were accessories by which they would be enabled to make more perfect and useful the life which God had given them. “If I live I mean to make my life foursquare,” he had said, with quiet determination, when he had come to her from his weary prison life; and she had never forgotten the resolute words—they had rung in her ears ever since like a watch-word. And to-day, as she stood at his side and spoke those solemn vows, she thought of them again, and she prayed that together they might live a life so perfect and complete that it should be like that “golden city whose length, and breath, and height were equal.” “So exceedingly romantic. Who would have thought it?” was the comment of not a few who had been rehearsing the incidents of the past six or seven years, but were interrupted as the distinguished bridal party passed up the broad aisle to the altar. Gustave Sylvester was to give away the bride, while Madam Forrester, very handsome, in mauve-colored moire, Spanish lace, and diamonds, came in on the arm of Paul Tressalia, who was by no means the least distinguished-looking one of the party, though his face might have been thought much too pale and stern for a wedding. Earle met them at the altar, very quiet and self-possessed, but with a luminous light in his eyes that told of the depth of the joy in his heart. After the wedding breakfast this party of five bade a long farewell to their guests and friends, and departed for the steamer that was to bear them to their beautiful home on England’s shores. * * * * *