They bolstered me up to see it all, as well as could be done with my splintered leg and arm. I was trembling violently, and the doctor gave me a sedative powder and sat by me with hand on my pulse. Ralph’s lounge had been moved beside Mildred’s cot. His face was as deadly pale as her own. “Mildred,” he whispered hoarsely,—they had not spoken to each other since in the morning when she had said she would marry him,—“Mildred, have you counted the cost? Think, darling, you may get well; do you realize what you are doing?” “Yes, far better than you do,” she replied with a faint smile. The clergyman quietly took his place at the foot of the bed, and as the solemn words of the Episcopal marriage service broke the silence, Mildred, who had been lying with closed eyes, started visibly. She had not before observed that the clergyman had a prayer-book. I could see that she was greatly agitated, and instantly divined the cause. She had always declared that she would never under any conditions allow herself to be married by that service. I knew her reasons for this and how strongly she felt about it, so I understood what her consternation must be now. All this flashed through my brain before the clergyman had read three lines. Then Mildred gave a little gasp. A crimson flush leaped into her cheeks, and I knew her mind was made up. Instantly her voice broke in, strangely clear and strong. “Please wait, sir,” she said. “I beg your pardon. I did not know this service was to be used. I cannot be married by it. Can you not substitute some other?” Every one but Ralph was thunderstruck; but they were getting inured to surprises, and no one spoke while the clergyman, for a moment too shocked to reply, gazed in blank amazement into Mildred’s earnest eyes. But Ralph understood, and said calmly, “No, dear, he cannot. I should have thought of this before. I am not willing that you should promise what this service contains. So, in the presence of God and of these witnesses, we two alone will bind ourselves lawfully in the marriage bond.” Then, holding Mildred’s right hand in his, while the minister stood wonderingly aside, he said with clear, unshaken voice: “I take thee, Mildred, to be my lawful, wedded wife, to love and to serve, to comfort and cherish, to honor and keep, so long as we both shall live; and thereto, God helping, I plight thee my troth.” A deathly pallor had crept over Mildred’s face. Just then the last rays of the setting sun for a moment streamed into the little room, irradiating its bare walls, and transfiguring with magic light those two faces on which we were gazing with breathless silence. Then, after a moment’s pause, Mildred with a great effort leaned an inch nearer, and gently taking Ralph’s brown hand in both her slender white ones, said, with blanched lips: