"Grandmother," she said, tremulously, "I'm going up to the church now, to be married to Alden Marsh. Before I go, I want to tell you I'm sorry if I've ever done anything I shouldn't do, and ask you to forgive me for any unhappiness I may ever have caused you. I haven't meant to do it, and I--I believe you've meant to be good to me. I hope you're glad I'm going to be happy now." The stern old face relaxed, ever so little, the sharp eyes softened with mist, and by tremendous effort, Grandmother put out a withered, wavering hand. Rosemary bent over the bed, lifted her in her strong young arms, and kissed her twice, then hurried away. Alden met them as they were half-way to the church, and, utterly regardless of two or three interested children who happened to be passing, shook hands with Aunt Matilda, then bent to kiss the flushed and happy face under the big plumed hat. "What magnificence!" he said. "I'm unworthy of so much splendour, I'm afraid. How on earth did you manage it?" [Sidenote: The Ceremony] Rosemary glanced at Aunt Matilda, then laughed a little sadly. "Oh," she answered, with assumed lightness, "I--just managed it, that's all." At the door of the church Madame welcomed them with an armful of white roses for the bride. She, too, had a new gown in honour of the occasion, and her sweet old face was radiant with smiles. "What a lovely bride," she said, as she kissed Rosemary. "Oh, my dear! You mustn't, truly! No tears on a wedding-day!" The minister was waiting at the altar. Madame and Aunt Matilda sat down together in a front pew; there was a moment's solemn hush, then the beautiful service began. Sunlight streamed through the open windows, carrying the colour and fragrance of Autumn into every nook and cranny of the church. From outside came the cheery piping of a robin that had paused upon a convenient window sill to peep in. There was a rush of tiny, furred feet through the drifted leaves, and a gleam of scarlet as a falling maple leaf floated past the open door. In the sunlight the taper lights on the altar gleamed like great stars suddenly come to earth. "That ye may so live together in this life," the deep voice was saying, "and in the life everlasting. Amen!" [Sidenote: Good-byes] After the benediction, came the minister's perfunctory congratulations. When he called her "Mrs. Marsh," Rosemary instinctively looked toward Madame, then laughed and blushed when she understood. Madame took the girl into her arms as she came down from the altar. "Dear daughter!" she said. "Truly my daughter, now!" Aunt Matilda and Rosemary hurried back to the little brown house, mindful of Alden's whispered admonition: "Don't keep me waiting long, dear--please." Neither spoke until after Rosemary had changed her gown, and stood before her mirror in pale lustrous grey, with hat and gloves to match. "I'll go in and say good-bye to Grandmother," Rosemary said. "Wait a minute. She may be asleep."