Gladys looked up as he came forward, and thought he looked a trifle pale and excited, but it might be because the light was dim, while her vail rendered everything a little indistinct. He nodded and smiled reassuringly at her, however; they would not let him come near her, for her dress was all arranged to go in, and must not be disturbed, while her maidens were hovering about her like a band of fairies around their queen, and, with girlish superstition, they waved him off, saying he must not speak to her again until after the ceremony. Mr. Huntress interviewed him regarding the delay, and then came and told Gladys it had been caused by a change in clergymen at the last moment. Their own pastor had been summoned by telegraph to a brother who was lying at the point of death, only a little more than an hour previous, and had been obliged to send a stranger—a friend who happened to be visiting in his family—to officiate in his place. This was the only shadow that had marred the young bride’s joy that day. She dearly loved her noble pastor, and was deeply disappointed not to have him pronounce her nuptial benediction. But she had no time to express it, for Mr. Huntress gave the signal to the ushers to throw open the church doors, while the groom, followed by his attendants, passed down one aisle, and Gladys, on her father’s arm and attended by her maids, went down another. They all met at the altar, where the strange clergyman was already awaiting them. Everybody wondered at the self-possession and the lovely bloom of the bride. But the secret of it was that Gladys forgot herself and all her surroundings; forgot the crowd of witnesses behind her; the curious glances—the place—everything in the solemn moment and the vows she was plighting. The clergyman, stranger though he was, made the service very beautiful and impressive, while the few words of kindly advice and congratulation which he uttered at its close, when he pronounced the young couple husband and wife, were exceedingly apt and well chosen. Then it was over, and those two, before whom life seemed reaching out so fair and full of promise, passed slowly down the center aisle, every eye following them, while every lip seemed to have something to say in praise of them. Gladys was very quiet as her husband put her into the carriage, for the solemnity of the service was still upon her. He, too, seemed in a like mood, for he only gathered the hand that wore his ring close within his own, and thus they sat, mute from excess of joy, during their drive home. Very tenderly the young husband helped his bride to alight, led her up the steps, never relinquishing her hand until he placed her beneath the magnificent arch at the lower end of the drawing-room, where they were to receive the congratulations of their friends. They had driven back very rapidly, and thus they had gained several minutes to themselves before the arrival of any others.