It was on a golden September day that Crystal became Raby Ferrers's wife; the company that had grouped themselves in the long drawing-room of the boarding-house owned that they had never seen a grander bride. The creamy Indian silk fell in graceful folds on the tall supple figure; the beautiful head, with its coils of dark glossy hair, was bent in girlish timidity. Margaret had clasped round her white throat the pearl necklace and diamond cross that had belonged to her mother, and which she was to have worn at her own bridal. "I shall not need it; it is for Raby's wife," she said, as Crystal protested with tears in her eyes; "it must be your only ornament. Oh, if Raby could only see how lovely you look." But the calm tranquil content on the sightless face silenced even this wish. Crystal ceased to tremble when the deep vibrating voice, vowing to love and cherish her to her life's end, sounded in her ears; but Raby felt the coldness of the hand he held. When they had received the congratulations of their friends, and Margaret had tenderly embraced her new sister, and they were left alone for a little, Raby drew his young bride closer to him. "You are not afraid now, my darling?" "No," she answered, unsteadily; "but it is all so like a dream. A fortnight ago--only a fortnight--I was the most desolate creature in God's earth; and now--" "And now," echoing her words with a kiss, "you are my wife. Ah, do you remember your childish speech--it used to ring in my ears; 'I am going to belong to Raby all my life long; I will never leave him, never.' Well, it has come true, love; you are mine now." "Yes," she whispered, leaning her forehead against him, "you will never be able to got rid of me; and oh"--her voice trembling--"the rest of knowing that it will never be my duty to leave you." He laughed at that, but something glistened in his eyes too. "No, my wild bird; no more flights for you--I have you safely now; you are bound to me by this"--touching the little circlet of gold upon the slender finger. "Now, my darling--my wife of an hour, I want you to make me a promise; I ask it of your love, Crystal. If a shadow--even the very faintest shadow, cross your spirit; if one accusing thought seems to stand between your soul and mine; one doubt or fear that, like the cloud no bigger than a man's hand, might rise and spread into the blackness of tempest, will you come and tell it to me?" "Oh, Raby, do not ask me." "But I do ask it, love, and I ask it in my twofold character of priest and husband, and it is the first request your husband makes you. Come, do not hesitate. You have given me yourself; now, with sweet generosity, promise me this, that you will share with me every doubt and fear that disturbs you?" "Will you not let me try to conquer the feeling alone first, and then come to you?" "No, I would not undertake the responsibility; I know you too well, darling. Come, I thought you promised something that sounded like obedience just now."