She was dressed in white silk—the long cloak had been discarded, and the heavy black veil that had screened her was now supplanted by a gauzy white one, through which the faintest glimpses only could be seen of her face. She was a picture indeed. Eric held his breath. He saw Prescott rush forward and take her hand with the utmost eagerness. Then the other led her forward. They stood in front of the second man, who held a book in his hand. “Good heavens!” muttered the detective. He rubbed his eyes. What mockery was this? A marriage—when she was already another man’s wife! He could hardly believe his sight. The voice of the preacher aroused him, and started him into life. This must not be. It was sacrilege. Knowing the facts of the case he would be abetting a crime if he allowed this thing to go on without raising an objection. So, while the minister was still talking, Eric suddenly sprang into the room. “I forbid this marriage!” he cried. A scene of confusion followed. The women fell back—Prescott swore and the minister looked amazed. An interruption like this seldom occurs. “Upon what charge do you dare stop this sacred ceremony?” demanded the preacher. “The woman has been married before.” “Yes.” “Her husband is living!” At this there came a shriek from the bride. “It is false, false as Hades! I helped to bury her husband myself,” shouted the artist. Eric, with a quick movement, threw back the white veil from the face of the almost fainting bride and then he received the greatest shock of his life. It was not Lillian! CHAPTER XXIII THE MESSENGER WITH GOOD NEWS Eric Darrell might have been frozen—he seemed so petrified with surprise. Instead of Lillian’s sweet face, marked by horror, he saw that of the dashing widow, Mrs. Collingwood, she with whom Prescott had communicated in the opium joint. It dawned upon the detective. All along there had been a great mistake—many things remained to be explained away, but the one main point was assured—Lillian must be innocent of the charge. He was a man of extraordinary sense, as well as a man of action. Recovering himself, he turned gracefully to Paul Prescott, who was glaring at him. “Mr. Prescott, there has been a grave mistake here on my part. I thought this lady was some one else. I beg your pardon. Let the ceremony proceed. I withdraw my objection. When it is over we will have a mutual understanding.” These words restored everyone to good humor. The artist dropped his frown, the dominie found his place in the book, and the bride again stood up beside the man she was taking for better or worse and the ceremony went on. Now was a chance for Eric to do some tall thinking, and he did so. He saw many things in a new light, and had about arranged all he wanted to say when the marriage service was over. “I pronounce you man and wife,” said the minister, and, bending over, the artist kissed his bride.