Rand and Adam laughed. Jacqueline, with a sudden soft kindliness for the small flushed face and startled eyes, bent her flower-crowned head and kissed Vinie. "Oh!" breathed Vinie. "Yeth, yeth, Mith Jacqueline, I thertainly wish you well!" "Where's Tom?" asked Rand. "Tom should be here--" but Vinie had slipped from the ring about the bride. Adam followed; Mr. Pincornet had already faded away. More important folk claimed the attention of the newly wedded pair, and Mr. Mocket had not yet appeared when at last the gathering, bound for the wedding feast at Mrs. Selden's, deserted the interior of the church and flowed out under the portico and down the steps to the churchyard and the coaches waiting in the road. Lewis and Jacqueline Rand came down the path between the midsummer flowers. They were at the gate when the sight and sound of a horse coming at a gallop along the road drew from Rand an exclamation. "Tom Mocket--and his horse in a lather! There's news of some kind--" It was so evident, when the horse and rider came to a stop before the church gate, that there was news of some kind, that the wedding guests, gentle and simple, left all talk and all employment to crowd the grassy space between the gate and the road and to demand enlightenment. Mocket's horse was spent, and Mocket's face was fiery red and eager. He gasped, and wiped his face with a great flowered handkerchief. "What is it, man?" cried a dozen voices. Mocket rose in his stirrups and looked the assemblage over. "We're all Republicans--hip, hip, hurrah! Eh, Lewis Rand, I've brought you a wedding gift! The stage had just come in--I got the news at the Eagle! Hip, hip--" "Tom," said Rand at his bridle rein, "you've been drinking. Steady, man. Now, what's the matter?" "A wedding gift! a wedding gift!" repeated Tom, taken with his own conceit. "And I never was soberer, gentlemen, never 'pon honour! Hip, hip, hurrah! we're all good Republicans--but you'll never guess the news!--The Creole's dead!" "No!" cried Rand. There arose an uproar of excited voices. "Yes, yes, it's true!" shouted Mocket. "The stage brought it. He was challenged by Aaron Burr. They met at a place named Weehawken. Burr's first shot ended it.--Sandy'll trouble us no more!" "It's rumour--" "No, no, it's gospel truth! There's a messenger from the President, and letters from all quarters. He's dead, and Burr's in hiding! Gad! We'll have a rouse at the Eagle to-night! Blue lights for Assumption and Funding and the Sedition Bill and Taxes and Standing Armies and the British Alliance-- "Oh, Alexander, King of Macedon, Where is your namesake, Andy Hamilton? "In a hotter place, I hope, than Saint Kitts!" "Hush!" said Rand. "Don't be ranting like a Mohawk! When a man's dead, it's time to let him rest."