While these rapid thoughts were flashing through his brain, the benediction was being pronounced, and with the last word the organ pealed forth its triumphant lay. The audience stirred excitedly, anticipating the final view of the wedding procession. The bride turned to take her bouquet from the maid of honor, and the movement broke the spell under which Gordon had been held. He turned to the young man by his side and spoke hurriedly in a low tone. “An awful mistake has been made,” he said, and the organ drowned everything but the word “mistake.” “I don’t know what to do,” he went on. But young Jefferson hastened to reassure him joyously: “Not a bit of it, old chap. Nobody noticed that hitch about the ring. It was only a second. Everything went off slick. You haven’t anything more to do now but take my sister out. Look alive, there! She looks as if she might be going to faint! She hasn’t been a bit well all day! Steady her, quick, can’t you? She’ll stick it out till she gets to the air, but hurry, for goodness’ sake!” Gordon turned in alarm. Already the frail white bride had a claim on him. His first duty was to get her out of this crowd. Perhaps, after all, she had discovered that he was not the right man, and that was the meaning of her tears and appeal. Yet she had held her own and allowed things to go through to the finish, and perhaps he had no right to reveal to the assembled multitudes what she evidently wanted kept quiet. He must wait till he could ask her. He must do as this other man said--this--this brother of hers--who was of course the best man. Oh, fool, and blind! Why had he not understood at the beginning and got himself out of this fix before it was too late? And what should he do when he reached the door? How could he ever explain? His commission! He dared not breathe a word of that? What explanation could he possibly offer for his--his--yes----his _criminal_ conduct? Why, no such thing was ever heard of in the history of mankind as that which had happened to him. From start to finish it was--it--was---- He could not think of words to express what it was. He was by this time meandering jerkily down the aisle, attempting to keep time to the music and look the part that she evidently expected him to play, but his eyes were upon her face, which was whiter now and, if possible, lovelier, than before. “Oh, just see how devoted he is,” murmured the eldest of the two dear old sisters, and he caught the sense of her words as he passed, and wondered. Then, immediately before him, retreating backward down the aisle with terrible eyes of scorn upon him, he seemed to feel the presence of Miss Julia Bentley leading onward toward the church door; but he would not take his eyes from that sweet, sad face of the white bride on his arm to look. He somehow knew that if he could hold out until he reached that door without looking up, her power over him would be exorcised forever.