Very modestly she received his congratulatory greeting, blushing prettily when he called her by the new name she had not heard before, and then, at a motion from Wilford, entered the carriage waiting for her. Close behind her came Morris and Helen, the former quite as much astonished at meeting Mark as Wilford had been. There was no time for conversation, and hurriedly introducing Helen as Miss Lennox, Morris followed her into the carriage with the bridal pair, and was driven to the depot, where they were joined by Mark, whose pleasant good-humored sallies did much towards making the parting more cheerful than it would otherwise have been. It was sad enough at the most, and Katy’s eyes were very red, while Wilford was beginning to look chagrined and impatient, when at last the train swept round the corner and the very last good-bye was said. Many of the village people were there to see Katy off, and in the crowd Mark had no means of distinguishing the Barlows from the others, except it were by the fond caresses given to the bride. Aunt Betsy he had observed from all the rest, both from the hanging of her pongee and the general quaintness of her attire, and thinking it just possible that it might be the lady of herrin’ bone memory, he touched Wilford’s arm as she passed them by, and said, “Tell me, Will, quick, who is that woman in the poke bonnet and short, slim dress?” Wilford was just then too much occupied in his efforts to rescue Katy from the crowd of plebeians who had seized upon her to hear his friends query, but Helen heard it, and with a cheek which crimsoned with anger, she replied, “That, sir, is my aunt, Miss Betsy Barlow.” “I beg your pardon, I really do. I was not aware——” Mark began, lifting his hat involuntarily, and mentally cursing himself for his stupidity in not observing who was near to him before asking personal questions. With a toss of her head Helen turned away, forgetting her resentment in the more absorbing thought that Katy was leaving her. The bell had rung, the heavy machinery groaned and creaked, and the long train was under way, while from an open window a little white hand was thrust, waving its handkerchief until the husband quietly drew it in, experiencing a feeling of relief that all was over, and that unless he chose his wife need never go back again to that vulgar crowd standing upon the platform and looking with tearful eyes and aching hearts after the fast receding train.