The yachts began to leave the harbor, some of them going South, some of them making their exit to the clanking chorus of the marine railway. The yacht clubs sounded their last guns, packed away their pennants and hauled up their floating docks. The hotels were closed, and most of the mansions on the Neck were deserted. The summer folk were turning toward the city, and the little seaport town was settling down to its winter routine. It was on one of those quiet September days that Anthony said to Bettina, "Set your wedding day, my dear." "Oh, Anthony, may I, really?" "Yes. The specialists who came yesterday gave a final decision. Justin is going to get--well." The invalid, propped up in a big chair, was approached thus: "Would you mind if it were a big affair, Justin?" "Not if you want it that way, sweetheart." "I don't, if you don't. But Diana and the rest are planning----" He laughed. "I want the whole world to see you, and I want all the bells to ring, and I want to run away afterward with you, and to have our honeymoon last forever." So they were married from Diana's, at high noon, and as the bride descended the stairway, a sigh of admiration went up from the waiting guests. Her costume had been copied from an old painting, and emphasized her likeness to those medieval Venetian beauties whose blood ran in her veins. Her veil was caught back, cap-fashion, from her face, then fell to her feet. The silken thinness of her gown was weighted with silver embroideries. Slightly to the left of the officiating clergyman was a screen of white roses. As Bettina advanced, the screen was set aside, and showed Justin, in a big chair, pale and smiling, and seeing only his bride as she came toward him. Standing by her lover's side, Bettina gave the responses clearly. And when he placed on her finger the little silver ring, it was she who bent and kissed him. As soon as the ceremony was over, the bridegroom was whisked away, to be followed by the bride when she had cut the wedding cake. In the library at the head of the stairs she found him. He was on his feet, unsupported, and looking expectantly toward the door. She gave a little cry. "Justin, you must not----!" He laughed and held out his arms to her. "Anthony said I might. Just to show you. He didn't quite dare for the wedding. But I want you to know that you are not marrying--a broken reed--dearest." She looked up at him. "How good it seemed," she whispered, "to see your face above mine. I--I am just as high as your heart--Justin." * * * * * Snow over the harbor. Snow, too, at Harbor Light.