Frank and Nameless joined hands beside that altar, before the opened Bible. Never had Frank's magnetic beauty shone with such peculiar power. She was clad in black velvet, her dark hair gathered plainly aside from her brow, and the white cross rose and fell with every throb of her bosom. Nameless wore the black tunic which, with his dark brown hair, threw his features into strong relief. The golden cross hung on his breast, over his heart. He was pale, as if with intense thought, but his large, gray eyes met the gaze of Frank, as though his soul was riveted there. And thus they joined hands, near the morning hour. The Rev. Dr. Bulgin stood a little in the background, his broad red face glowing in the light. His cardinal's attire thrown aside, he appeared in sleek black, with the eternal white cravat about his neck. There was the flush of champagne upon the good doctor's florid face. Behind Nameless stood Colonel Tarleton, dressed as the hidalgo, his right hand grasping a roll of paper, raised to his mouth, and his eyes gazing fixedly from beneath his down-drawn brows. It was _the_ moment of his life. "Once married and the way is clear!" he thought. "To think of it--after twenty-one years my hand grasps the prize!" "We will walk through life together," said Frank, pressing the hand of Nameless. "And devote our wealth to the elevation of the unfortunate and the fallen!" he responded, as a vision of future good gave new fire to his eye. And then he pressed his hand to his forehead, for his temples throbbed. A vivid memory of every event of his past life started up suddenly before his soul, every event invested with the familiar faces, the well-known voices of other days. He raised his eyes to the face of Frank, and the singular influence which seemed to invest her like an atmosphere, again took possession of him. It was not the influence of passion, nor the spell of her mere loveliness, although her person was voluptuously moulded, and the deep red in the center of her rich brown cheek, told the story of a warm and passionate nature; but it was as though her very soul, embodied in her lustrous eyes, encircled and possessed his own. Was it love, in the common acceptation of the word? Was it fascination? Was it the result of sympathy between two lives, each of which had been made the sport of a dark and singular destiny? "Had not we better go on?" said Dr. Bulgin, mildly. "Summoned to this house to celebrate these nuptials at this unusual hour, I feel somewhat fatigued with the duties of the day," and he winked at Tarleton. "Proceed," said Tarleton, pressing the right hand, with the roll of paper to his lip. The marriage service was deliberately said in the rich, bold voice of the eloquent Dr. Bulgin. The responses were duly made. The ring was placed upon the finger of the bride, and the white cross sparkled in the light, as it rose with the swell of her proud bosom.