“By Jove, Charley, you go too far in taking her part,” he said sharply. “You seem to forget that Mrs. Barry and the niece are the wronged ones.” “I forget nothing,” said Doctor Charley sturdily. “But I think that if the Barrys had been good, true-hearted women, they would not have crossed the seas to hunt down a poor girl who had committed a fault through love, that no intermeddling of theirs could set straight. Much better have let it all alone.” Cecil stared at him in surprise and displeasure. “I must have found it out sometime--when I went home if not sooner,” he said. “Poor Molly would never have let you find it out--women are so clever--but they took her by surprise,” Doctor Charley returned. “I wanted to know if there was anything wrong! I do not fancy being deceived,” sternly. Doctor Charley looked almost contemptuously. “So you thank the Barrys for your misery,” he said dryly. “Very well, call on them by all means then, and thank them for their friendship, in having put asunder what God had joined together. Perhaps things will come out so that you will get the real Louise Barry for your wife at last. I have no doubt that old woman and her niece will help you to torture poor Molly into an early grave.” “Charley?” rebukingly. “Well?” “What have I done that you should be so hard on me in my trouble?” “You have turned against the woman you swore to love, honor and protect, and you have earned my contempt by your weakness,” fearlessly. “What is there in a name that you should hate her so? She is the same girl you loved and married, call her by what name you will!” CHAPTER XXXII. It was a strange bridal there in that quiet room where Molly had lain so many weary days and nights ill and suffering--a strange bridal, compared with the one in which the same two had been the principal actors less than a year before. Then the man had been proud, smiling, happy, looking forward to a bright future; the bride had been lovely and radiant outwardly, whatever might have been her secret terrors at her hidden treachery. But now all was changed. When the bridegroom entered with cold, averted eyes and a pale, stern, haughty countenance, following his brother, parents, the Barrys, and the minister, there rose to join him before the holy man of God a slight, drooping figure that had been crouching forlornly all the morning in an easy-chair, with the pale face bowed in its hands. Cecil gave her a cold, slight, disdainful bow that chilled her to the heart, and made her shrink back sensitively against Doctor Charley, who had assisted her to rise from her chair. The young doctor whispered, hurriedly: “Never mind his coldness now. You can soon win him back.” He drew her forward and placed her trembling hand on Cecil’s arm. She stood there quivering with emotion, not daring to look up, afraid of the cold, angry faces around.