"He is sure to be a worshipful husband," said Miss Margaret. "I always said love would be a grand passion with Jay. He will love once, and that will be forever, and to his wife he will be always true." Poor, hapless Bernardine could have cried aloud as she listened. What would that proud lady-mother and that haughty sister say if they but knew how he had tricked her into a sham marriage, and abandoned her then and there? Oh, would they feel pity for her, or contempt? The servants, in livery, had taken their posts; everything was in readiness now to welcome the five hundred guests that were to arrive in advance of the bridal pair. In her _boudoir_, the grand old lady-mother, resplendent in ivory-satin, rare old point lace and diamonds, was viewing herself critically in the long pier-glass that reached from ceiling to floor. Her daughter Margaret stood near her, arrayed in satin and tulle, with pearls white as moonbeams lying on her breast, clasping her white throat and arms, and twined among the meshes of her dark hair. The contrast made poor Bernardine look strangely out of place in her plain gray cashmere dress, with its somber dark ribbons. "You look quite tired, Miss Moore. I would suggest that you go into the grounds for a breath of fresh air before the guests arrive. Then I shall want you here," said Miss Gardiner, noticing how very white and drawn the girl's face looked. Oh, how thankful she was to get away from them--away from the sight of the pomp and the splendor--to cry her heart out, all alone, for a few moments! With a grateful murmured "Thank you," she stepped from the long French window out on to the porch and down the private stair-way into the grounds. Margaret Gardiner stepped to the window, drew aside the heavy lace curtains, and watched the dark, slim figure until it was lost to sight among the grand old oak-trees. It seemed to Bernardine that she had escaped just in time, for in another instant she would have cried out with the pain at her heart, with the awful agony that had taken possession of her. One by one grand coaches began to roll up the long white road, turn in at the great stone gate-way, and rattle smartly up the serpentine drive to the broad porch. Then they commenced to arrive scores at a time, and the air was filled with the ringing hoofs of hundreds of horses, the voices of coachmen and grooms, and the gay sound of laughter. The din was so great no one heard the solitary little figure among the trees crying out to Heaven that she had counted beyond her strength in remaining there to witness the home-coming of the man she loved and his bride. Suddenly she heard the sound of her own name. "Miss Moore! Miss Moore! Where are you?" called one of the maids. "My lady is asking for you!" "Tell your mistress I shall be there directly."