“The marriage, sir, is to be between Lord Athlyne and my daughter.” As he spoke Athlyne went to a side table whereon were spread the Sheriff’s writing materials. He took a sheet of paper and began to write. Colonel Ogilvie went on: “We have come to the conclusion that, though the act of marriage which has already taken place between these two young people is in your view lawful and complete, it may be well to go through the ceremony in a more formal manner. There are, we all know, intricacies and pitfalls in law; and we are both agreed with the suggestion of my lord that it would be well not to allow any loophole for after attack. Therefore in your presence--if you will be so good,” the Sheriff bowed, “they shall again pledge their mutual Matrimonial Consent. They will both sign the paper to that effect which I see Lord Athlyne is preparing; and we shall all sign it as witnesses. Then, when this new marriage is complete--and irrefragable as I understand from what you said awhile ago it will be--we shall be ready for breakfast. It will be more than perhaps you expected when you so kindly asked us to be your guests: a wedding breakfast!” Judy whispered to her niece. “Joy, you must come to your room and let me dress you properly. I have brought a dress with me.” “What dress dear?” she asked. “The tweed tailor-made.” “But, Judy dear, I have on a white frock, and that is more suitable for my wedding.” “That was all right yesterday, dear. But to-day you shall not wear white. You are already a married lady; this is only a re-marriage.” A beautiful blush swept over Joy’s face as she looked at her husband writing away as hard as his pen could move. “I shall wear white to-day!” she said in the same whisper, and stood up. Just at that moment a fly drove quickly past the window. It stopped at the hotel door, and there was a sudden bustle of arrival. Voices raised to a high pitch were heard outside. Various comments were heard in the room. “That’s mother!” “My wife!” “Sally!” “Why Aunt Judy that’s the voice of Mrs. O’Brien!” “My Foster-mother!” The door opened, and in swept Mrs. Ogilvie who flew first to her husband’s arms; and then, after a quick embrace, seemed to close round Joy and obliterate her. A similar eclipse took place with regard to Athlyne; for Mrs. O’Brien dashed into the room and calling out as though invoking the powers of earth and heaven: “Me bhoy! me bhoy!” fell upon him. He seemed really glad to see her, and yielded himself to her embrace as freely as though he had been a child again.