Cecil was waiting at the foot of the stairs, so eager, so happy, so grand looking in his wedding garments, that all her regrets vanished in passionate love and admiration. She clung to his arm, sighing to herself: “Oh, Heaven grant that he may never, never find me out!” Five minutes more and the ring was on her finger, the marriage vows had passed her lips, and Cecil Laurens’ lips had called her wife. She stood in the middle of the room, pale, but with a quiet dignity, receiving the congratulations of the guests. Suddenly there was a stir and bustle at the door where the servants were congregated, looking on at the brilliant scene. A shabby young man, ghastly pale, with eyes of fire blazing out of his weak, good-looking face, pushed through the crowd of guests, crying out, fiercely: “The bride--let me see the bride!” A wild hubbub arose as he advanced, for in the hand that hung down at his side a score of eyes had caught the gleam of a knife. Insane fury flashed from his eyes as he advanced upon the beautiful bride. Her eyes dilated with terror, her face waxed ghastly as she faced him, but not a sound came from her pallid, parted lips. “Ha! ha!” the intruder cried with a horrible laugh as he stopped so close to her that his hot breath fanned her brow, while his eyes fairly devoured her terrified face. Then-- All in an instant, and as suddenly as he had rushed upon her, the infuriated man fell back a pace and his hand dropped to his side, while the glare of his eyes changed to a stupid stare. “You!” he muttered, “_you!_” and the murderous knife fell from his hand upon the floor. Some one shrieked aloud: “A madman! Take him away!” The men rushed upon him and dragged him from the room. Molly clung sobbing to her new-made husband. “Oh, Cecil,” she whispered, “he is not mad. It is John Keith, my sister’s lover. He has made some strange mistake, I am sure! He must have thought it was his own sweetheart being married instead of me! Oh, let me go and speak to him, poor tortured Johnny!” A shout came back from the hall. The captive had broken loose and escaped into the darkness of the night. “I am so glad!” sighed Molly, with infinite relief. And Cecil Laurens looked down at her with grave eyes. “Louise, are you sure the man is not an old lover of yours?” he asked in a tone divided between jest and earnest. “I have never had a lover but you!” she replied, fondly, and lifting her dark eyes to his face that he might read the love written there. “Darling!” he whispered, rapturously, as he led her to a seat. Every one had run out into the hall to look after the maniac, and they were for a moment alone. Molly whispered, anxiously: “Dear Cecil, don’t you pity that poor fellow? He is not rich like you, and he can not find work enough to support a wife! She is growing tired of waiting, and he will lose her, unless something happens in his favor. You will help him, Cecil? You’ll find him some work?”