The good minister had been told a simple, plausible tale; some slight illegality had been detected in the marriage, and the principals had determined to have another ceremony to make all secure. There was nothing strange in it at all, and he did not wonder that the parties were sensitive over the matter, and desired to keep it secret. What he did wonder at was the cold, stern face of the handsome groom, and the ill and frightened looks of the pallid bride. But he did not possess the clew to these strange looks, and he was ushered out so quickly after he read the ceremony and pronounced the prayers, that he could not see whether any good wishes were offered or not. Cecil and Charley went out with him, and all the rest followed, except the bride and the alert Phebe, and Louise Barry, who had stayed behind to whisper, vindictively: “So you have got him again by your cunning! Well, remember what I told you. If you betray _me_, if you breathe one word to defend yourself I swear I will compass your _death_!” Phebe pushed in between them. “Go away, Miss Barry, and leave her alone, or I shall tell her husband how you have treated her,” she threatened. Louise gave her a wicked glance. “Tell him--but it will be at _her_ peril,” she said, menacingly, as she trailed her rich garments through the door-way. Phebe slammed the door and turned to her mistress, who had fallen down wearily on a sofa. “I shall tell Mr. Cecil of this woman’s wicked treatment of you,” she exclaimed; but Molly held up a warning hand. “No, no, you will not tell him,” she said. “I--I am not afraid of Louise. Oh, Phebe!” with sudden, irrepressible anguish, “is he not going to speak to me, is he going away from me like this?” Phebe thought she had never seen such a terrible fear and dread as looked at her from Molly’s large, lustrous eyes that looked so big and bright in her small, pale face. Tears came into her own. “He will come back directly, dear, I’m sure,” she said; but not being so sure as she pretended, she whisked out of the room in a hurry. She saw Doctor Charley going away with the minister, and poking her head audaciously into the parlor, beheld Cecil Laurens the center of a condoling group, Miss Barry being close at his elbow. “Mr. Laurens, your wife wants to see you,” she said, abruptly. He started and frowned; but with the perfect courtesy of which he was master, disengaged himself from the group and came toward her, saying in a low voice: “Can you not bring me her message, Phebe?” “No, sir!” in such a curt, dry tone that he flushed to his temples, pushed angrily past her, and returned to the room where he had left his sad little bride without a word or look. He had to look at her now, and angry as he was he started in surprise at the change her weeks of illness and grief had wrought.