The few wedding guests whispered to each other when Cora entered that she was the palest, most frightened-looking bride they had ever seen. What was it that could be preying upon her mind upon such an occasion as this? But, they added kindly enough, that it was no wonder, for after her two former fateful wedding days who could blame her for being nervous and apprehensive of disaster. She came in quietly enough, with downcast eyes, with her aunt, for the wedding was to be quite informal, the ceremony being performed first for the elder couple. Frank Laurier was there looking quite as pale and troubled as his bride, but again the guests excused his perturbation, whispering: “He is afraid something is going to happen.” A sort of undefined dread of evil pervaded the air. The bishop arose and opened his book as the elder couple moved in front of him, and the happiness on those two fine faces, the chastened happiness of reunion after long grief and pain--almost dissipated the lowering cloud of presentiment over every spirit. Brief questions were asked, clear responses made, and the ring slipped over the bride’s slender finger, token of a union never to be broken “until death do us part.” Kisses, congratulations, tears, and smiles, for the happy pair, then they moved aside for the others with a prayer in their hearts that these two might not sail forth upon such stormy seas of matrimonial disaster as they had done in ignorant youth. None had noticed in the excitement of the congratulations that three more guests had arrived--three men who had bribed the servants to let them look on at the scene from behind the tall palms at the open door of the drawing-room. Pale, grave, silent, these three men watched the scene with eager eyes, as Frank and Cora stood side by side breathing the words that bound their lives in one forever. Suddenly one gasped and started wildly forward as the minister repeated mechanically the customary warning, for any one who knew any impediment to the marriage to speak now or forever after hold his peace. This man, tall, pale, with a sinister scar on his brow, and a painful limp, crossed the room as swiftly as his infirmity would permit, and thundered: “I forbid the marriage. She is my wife!” The bishop dropped his prayer book in amazement, and with startled cries, all faced around upon the newcomer. Cries of doubtful recognition shrilled over every lip: “Ernest Noel!” Cora clung with frantic hands to Frank’s arm, gazing with horrified eyes at the daring intruder. There stood Ernest Noel in the flesh, though his good looks were marred by a scar on his cheek and a decided limp received in some accident. Over one of his shoulders peered the grave, noble face of the minister who had married them in the mock marriage that had turned out a real one, and over the other she saw, like a grinning fiend’s, Carey Doyle’s with an ugly sneer on the mustached lips.