"No, I think not," said Jack, with a sigh. "Oh, I don't know; it's not a common affair." "Well, she told me she had kept it a secret--and you and Louie are the only ones I've told it to--so, unless you have told about it, no one knows." "I haven't told a soul." "Then I don't see how anybody can know, unless old Fletcher has proclaimed it." "Not he; he wouldn't take the trouble." "I don't care," said Jack, morosely, "how many are there, or how few. Crowd or no crowd, it makes small difference to me, by Jove!" "Look here, old fellow," said I, suddenly, after some further conversation, "if you're going, you'd better start. It's a quarter to twelve now." Jack gave a groan and rose from his sofa. He went into his dressing-room and soon returned, in his festive array, with a face of despair that was singularly at variance with his costume. Before starting, in spite of my remonstrances, he swallowed another draught of brandy. I began to doubt whether he would be able to stand up at the ceremony. St. Malachi's was not far away, and a few minutes' drive brought us there. The church was quite empty. A few stragglers, unknown to us, had taken seats in the front pews. Old Fletcher was in the chancel. We walked up and shook hands with him. He greeted Jack with an affectionate earnestness of congratulation, which, I was sorry to see, was not properly responded to. After a few words, we all sat down in the choir. It wanted about five minutes of the time. The widow was expected every moment. Old Fletcher now subsided into dignified silence. I fidgeted about, and looked at my watch every half-minute. As for Jack, he buried his face in his hands and sat motionless. Thus four minutes passed. No signs of the widow. One minute still remained. The time was very long. I took out my watch a half-dozen times, to hasten its progress. I shook it impatiently to make it go faster. The great empty church looked cold and lonely. The little group of spectators only added to the loneliness of the scene. An occasional cough resounded harshly amid the universal stillness. The sibilant sounds of whispers struck sharply and unpleasantly upon the ear. At last the minute passed. I began to think my watch was wrong; but no--for suddenly, from the great bell above, in the church-tower, there tolled out the first stroke of the hour. And between each stroke there seemed o long, long interval, in which the mind had leisure to turn over and over all the peculiarities of this situation. ONE! I counted. [No widow. What's up? Did any one ever hear of a bride missing the hour, or delaying in this way?] TWO! [What a humbug of a woman! She has cultivated procrastination all her life, and this is the result] THREE! [Not yet. Perhaps she wants to make a sensation. She anticipates a crowded church, and will make an entrance in state.] FOUR! [But no; she did not invite anybody, and had no reason to suppose that any one would be here.] FIVE!