Walter Errol, having finished disrobing, took his soft hat and went out to the motor, which had returned from the Hall to fetch him, and was driven swiftly to the scene of the festivities, the joyous pealing of the bells sounding harmoniously in the lazy stillness of the summer day. Past John Musgrave's home the motor bore him; past Miss Simpson's comfortable house, where the blinds were jealously lowered as though a funeral, instead of a wedding, were in progress. And, indeed, for the Moresby spinster the chiming of the marriage-peal was as the funeral knell ringing the last rites over the grave of her dead hopes. Miss Simpson was the only person in Moresby who sympathised with the sexton's opinion that John Musgrave was done for. At the Hall only the immediate members of both families were present, with the exception of the vicar and his wife. John Musgrave had stipulated for a quiet wedding. Very proud and happy he looked as, with his wife beside him, he greeted his oldest friend; and the vicar, with an affectionate hand on his shoulder, exclaimed: "It isn't Coelebs any longer, John. You were a wise man and waited patiently for the right woman." "I hope I shall prove to be the right woman, John," Peggy whispered, drawing more closely to him as the vicar passed on, and looking up in her husband's face with wide, diffident grey eyes, eyes that were wells of happiness, despite their anxious questioning. "My only doubt," John Musgrave answered gently, "is whether I shall prove worthy of your love, my wife." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The End.