“Yes,” he replied, gravely. “Forgive me for referring again to an unpleasant topic, but I could not bring my mind to add another H. there. If I _have_ a right to an honored name, and find it out sometime, then I will have the initial inserted—you see, I have had space left for it. Do you mind?” “No, Geoff,” Gladys returned, after a moment’s thought, though her heart sank at his words, as she remembered what Everet Mapleson had told her, “you have done perfectly right to mark the ring as you wish, and, of course, no one save ourselves ever need know anything about it.” He put it away with a sigh of relief. “I am glad that you approve, dear,” he said, smiling, “and now mind that your glove is properly arranged, and no other ring on this, my especial finger; for this ring must never come off after I have once put it on, _unless_ we find another initial to add to the others. Now, good-by, love, for the next three hours. I shall not see you again until we meet at church.” CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE WEDDING. Gladys went to her room with a sweet and tender gravity on her beautiful face. Every passing moment made her feel more sensibly the sacredness of the vows that she was about to take upon herself, and the responsibilities she was so soon to assume. “I know this great joy is far more than I deserve,” she murmured. “I cannot understand why no shadow has ever been allowed to cloud my life, when so many are born to a lot of sorrow, trial, and toil. I will try to lift the burden from some hearts in the future; I will not live all for self, but reflect some of my own happiness, if I can, to brighten other lives less favored than mine.” Could any bride, on the eve of her marriage, have made a holier resolve than this? Very lovely she looked, when she came forth from her chamber, in her spotless wedding attire. Her simple, yet elegant dress, of white ottoman silk, was made _en train_, and its only garnishing was the voluminous vail, which covered her from head to foot, and was caught, here and there, in graceful draperies, with clusters of orange blossoms and lilies of the valley. Unlike many brides, she was not pale, but a delicate and lovely color was on her cheek. Her eyes were brilliant and expressive with the deep and holy joy that filled her heart, and she was calm with that perfect content which an unwavering confidence and affection alone could give. She rode alone with her father, who was to give her away, to Plymouth Church, where Geoffrey was to meet her. He was not there when they arrived, although he left the house some time previous to their own departure, and they waited for him in the vestibule, but somewhat anxiously, as it was already five minutes past the hour set for the ceremony. At last there was a slight commotion about the door, and a voice was heard to say: “He has come! All is well now!”