It was a strange wedding, but an impressive one, for there were certain elements of romance and mystery connected with it which could not fail to make themselves felt. The critical condition and delicacy of the bride, together with her apparent friendlessness, made the occasion extremely pathetic to all save Salome herself, who was surprisingly calm. There was a light upon her face and in her eyes which plainly revealed her great love for the man to whose care and keeping she had so freely given herself, and for whom she had yielded her precious life-blood. She looked very lovely in her pretty dress of gray silk—another treasure which had been stored away in her trunk, and which had caused the nurse, who acted as maid, to open her eyes in surprise as she remarked its richness of texture and trimming. “One would never believe you to be a poor nurse with such lovely clothes as you have, Miss Howland,” she had remarked as her glance lingered upon other dainty articles in the well-filled trunk from which it had been exhumed. Salome made no reply, but a curious little smile in which there was a tinge of bitterness curved her beautiful lips as she shook out the folds of her lustrous silk and then gave it to her to be made ready for her bridal. Her only ornament when she was dressed was an exquisite bouquet of long-stemmed white roses tied with a heavy white ribbon, which the thoughtful groom had provided for her. When the clergyman called for the seal to their vows, Dr. Winthrop produced a heavy band of gold and slipped it upon Salome’s finger, solemnly repeating the words, “With this ring I thee wed and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” But the shining circlet proved to be far too large, and came near falling off again, a circumstance which made the bride turn pale and shiver slightly, as some imp of misery suddenly suggested it was perhaps ominous, and that this great new happiness might even now slip from her grasp as the ring seemed ready to slip from her finger. She was obliged to close her hand in order to hold it in its place, and the constant care of it distracted her and made her nervous. The ceremony was followed by brief congratulations from those present, after which they were served with cake and wine, Dr. Hunt’s kind provision for the occasion. “I shall forbid the cake, Mrs. Winthrop,” the good man smilingly said, as he approached Salome with a little salver on which, for form’s sake, he had placed a plate containing a liberal supply of the forbidden luxury and a glass of wine, “but the wine I prescribe for you; and now,” lifting his own glass, “permit me to drink to your health and future happiness, my dear madam.” Salome blushed at her new name, smiled brightly, and then with exquisite grace touched the brim of her glass to his and drank with him. Her manner was perfect, and Dr. Winthrop, watching her with a proud light in his eyes, marvelled at it.