The toneless voice broke---- “take thee, Peter Quilliam------'” And then all came in a rush, with some of the words distinctly repeated, and some of them droned and dropped-- “--'to my wedded husband, to have and to hold-----'” “--'have and to hold-----'” “--'from this day forward.... till death do us part-----'” “--'death do us part------'” “--'therefore I give thee my troth------'” “--'troth------'” The last word fell like a broken echo, and then there was a rustle in the church, and much audible breathing. Some of the school-girls in the gallery were reaching over the pews with parted lips and dancing eyes. Pete had taken her left hand, and was putting the ring on her finger. She was conscious of his warm breath and of the words-- “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow, Amen.” Again she left her cold hand in Pete's warm hand. He was stroking it on the outside with his other one. It was all a dream. She seemed to rally from it as she moved down the aisle. Ghostly faces were smiling at her out of the air on either side, and the choir in the gallery behind the school-girls were singing the psalm, with John the Clerk's husky voice drawling out the first word of each new verse as his companions were singing the last word of the preceding one-- “Thy wife shall be as the fruitful vine upon the walls of thine house; Thy children like the olive branches round about thy table. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be; World without end, A--men.” They were all in the vestry now, standing together in a group. Her mother was wiping her eyes, Pete was laughing, and Nancy Joe was nudging him and saying in an audible whisper, “Kiss her, man--it's only respectable.” The parson was leaning over the table. He spoke to Pete, and then said, “A substantial mark, too. The lady's turn next.” The open book was before her, and the pen was put into her hand. When she laid it down, the parson returned his spectacles to their sheath, and a nervous voice, which thrilled and frightened her, said from behind, “Let me be the first to wish you happiness, Mrs. Quilliam.” It was Philip. She turned towards him, and their eyes met for a moment. But she was only conscious of his prominent nose, his clear-cut chin, his rapid smile like sunshine, disappearing as before a cloud. He said something else--something about a new life and a new beginning--but she could not gather its meaning, her mind would not take it in. At the next moment they were all in the open air. XXII.