So her marriage-day had come, and, unless she fell ill or died, the ceremony was to go inexorably on. Olive was far from well; every day she expected to hear of Holcroft's photo being seen; her sole protection against that catastrophe as yet, was the fear that ere it came to pass, he would seek her presence at least once again, on an errand of extortion. But ill or well, she had to bear her part in the ceremony as a bridesmaid, and a charming one she looked. Allan, of course, was there too, but not as groomsman--a 'fogie' friend of Sir Paget officiated in that capacity, and more than once did the head of the latter jerk about in a way that was quite alarming as he entered the church, which was _en fête_ for the occasion. To the tortured mind of his bride, she thought it would be a relief when the ceremony was over, and the phantasmagoria that seemed to surround her had all passed away. 'Is not certainty better than suspense?' asks Rhoda Broughton; 'night better than twilight? despair than the sickly flicker of an extinguishing hope?' 'In marrying in this compulsory fashion, I do this poor man a great wrong,' thought Eveline, 'and condemn myself to a life-long sorrow.' And amid the sacrifice Lady Aberfeldie, calm and aristocratic, stood with a great air of dignity and grace peculiarly her own. 'She will love Sir Paget in time, if love is necessary,' she was thinking; 'he is so good, so generous, and _so_ rich.' So rich--yes, with her--there lay the magnet and the secret of it all! The bridesmaids, all handsome girls, were uniformly costumed; among them amber-haired Ruby Logan, quite jubilant with reviving hopes of Allan. Eveline's cold and now white lips murmured almost inaudibly the words she was bidden to say--the few but terrible words that made her a wedded wife--while her pallid face was but half seen amid the bridal veil, that seemed to float like filmy mist around her. Allan alone, who knew the real secret of her heart, looked pityingly, darkly, and gravely on, for it was a union of which--however his father and mother desired it--he did not approve. For a time Eveline had actually schooled herself to think that marriage would give her a species of vengeance on the man who, she thought, had wronged and oppressed her. But now, oh, heaven! she loved the lost one more than ever, while death alone could unforge the fetters her lips were riveting. Was it ominous of evil that the ring dropped from her wedding finger as Sir Paget placed it there? At last all was over. The great organ pealed forth the wedding-march. The bells rang joyously in the great spire overhead, and she was led forth by Sir Paget, leaning on his arm, a wedded wife.