‘Never shall I forget that day—the empty church wrapt in shadow, the rain beating against the great window over the altar, the face of the stranger who read the service, the dreary sense of loneliness and helplessness that crept about my heart as I stood by the side of him for whom I was now to forsake all I had loved. Never, surely, was there a more mournful wedding. I felt guilty, miserable, despairing, my heart at this last hour clinging most fondly to those from whom I was about to sever myself, perhaps for life. When the service ended, the stranger who had read it looked at me in a curious way and left the church, after a little whispered talk with my husband. When he had gone, Bertram went straight to the organ—that organ on which he had played for many an hour during the last few weeks—and struck the opening chords of the “Wedding March.” “Come, Janet,” he cried, “let us have our triumphal music, if we have no other item in the pageantry of a wedding.” ‘He played, as he always played, like a man who, for the time being, lived only in music; but for my overburdened heart even that magic had no soothing influence. I left the organ-loft, and went down-stairs again. Here, in the dimly-lighted aisle, I almost stumbled against the stranger who had read the marriage-service. “I was anxious to see you,” he began, in a nervous hesitating way, and very slowly—“anxious to be assured that all was right. You have been already married before the registrar, your husband informs me, and this ceremonial of to-day is merely for the satisfaction of your own conscience; yet I am bound to inform you—” ‘The last notes of the “Wedding March” had pealed out from the old organ before this, and I heard my husband’s footstep behind me as the stranger spoke. He came quickly to the spot where we stood, and put my arm through his. “I thought I told you, Leslie, that my wife has had the whole business fully explained to her,” he said. ‘The stranger muttered something which sounded like an apology, bowed to me, wished my husband good-bye, and hurried away. If he had come back to the church to give me friendly counsel or timely warning, he quitted it with his intention unfulfilled.