"This is an awful pickle I've got you into. You ought to hate me--" he was groaning, but she checked him nobly. "Hush, Joe, I LOVE it," she cried. "You just wait and see how happy I'll make you for this." He was about to kiss her rapturously, but the act was stayed by the sound of a shrill whistle, thrice given. "There's Jim Carpenter and Derby," he exclaimed, and whistled in response. A moment later Derby strolled up from the grove, followed by the chattering Mr. Van Truder. "That you, Joe?" "Hello, Darb. Good! Where's Jim?" Some one whistled sharply off to the left, and then Jim Carpenter came hurrying up, the head-waiter close behind. "Hello, Joe. Say, has either of you been coughing?" demanded Carpenter, his hair ready to stand on end. "I should say not," said Joe. "I've scarcely been breathing." "Then some ghost is having a hemorrhage," said the head-waiter, dismally. [Illustration: "Hush, Joe, I LOVE it," she cried.] "Hello, Mr. Dauntless, are you a witness too?" "Say, Joe," said his cousin, quickly, "there's something strange going on. The whole place is full of people. I went back there to open a window and at least two men coughed--one of 'em sneezed. We're being watched. This man says he heard a woman back there, and I saw a funny kind of light in the graveyard." "Hang 'em!" growled Joe. "We can't stop now. Open up the church, Jim." "Can't. Lost my key. Is this Miss Thursdale? Glad to meet you. The window's the only way and they're surely watching back there." "Mamma has sent the officers after us," wailed Eleanor. "Let's go home," said the waiter. "I didn't agree to stay out all night." "Agree? Aha, I see. You are a spy!" cried Joe. "A spy? I guess not. I'm a witness." "It's the same thing," cackled Mr. Van Truder. "You're a spy witness." "Joe, isn't this fellow your witness?" demanded Carpenter. "I should say not. Mr. Van Truder is mine." "By George, I don't understand--" "Never mind, Jim, break into the church and let's have it over with. It's going to rain again." "Oh, I'm so tired," moaned the poor bride, mud-spattered, wet, and very far from being the spick and span young woman that fashionable society knew and loved. "By Jove!" came suddenly from the darkness, startling the entire party--a masculine voice full of surprise and--yes, consternation. Then there strode into the circle of light a tall figure in a shimmering mackintosh, closely followed by a young, resolute woman. "Windomshire!" gasped Dauntless, leaping in front of Eleanor, prepared to defend her with his life. "Miss Courtenay, too," murmured Eleanor, peeking under his arm. "Yes, by Jove," announced the harassed Englishman, at bay,--"Windomshire and Miss Courtenay." There was a long silence--a tableau, in fact. "Well, why doesn't some one say something? You've got us, don't you know."