Outside the gates waited the brand new carriage, with prancing white horses, that had brought Giles Bennett and the Methodist preacher who was to perform the ceremony, and in the parlor the bridegroom waited, spick and span in his new black suit, for his bonny bride. Jessie Stirling, at the piano, had already begun the first low notes of the wedding march, and to that sound came Leola slowly down the stairs on the arm of Miss Tuttle, having peremptorily declined her guardian’s escort. Mrs. Stirling thought it rather ridiculous, as they came in sight, that that silly old maid, Miss Tuttle, had chosen to wear a hat and veil like the bride at the ceremony, but she did not give the poor, drab-faced creature a second look, she was so intent on watching the proceedings. Wizard Hermann met the pair at the door, and taking the golden-haired girl by the arm, led her to the rotund bridegroom waiting nervously for his happiness. The minister cleared his throat ready to proceed, but the bride stood still for a moment, facing Giles Bennett, and her low voice said, distinctly: “The mortgage on Wheatlands--the prize for which I am sold, sir--have you brought it as agreed upon?” He produced a folded paper, and she beckoned to her guardian. “Examine this paper. Is it bona fide?” He answered, huskily: “Yes.” She looked at Giles Bennett. “You are willing that I destroy this paper, on condition that I marry you immediately afterward?” “I agree to your conditions,” he said, and directly the fragments of the mortgage fluttered, like a miniature snowstorm, from the bride’s white-gloved hands to the floor. Then she took his arm, and they moved across to the waiting minister, who began to pray. In the excitement no one noticed a rapping on the open hall door, nor that poor Miss Tuttle, instead of attending the bride as maid of honor, had sunk into a low seat near the door with her handkerchief hiding her veiled face. The music played on softly, like a sigh, the dim lights flickered forlornly among the fragrant flowers, and the short marriage ceremony of the Methodist Church in less than ten minutes made Leola Mead the bride of Giles Bennett, who had bought her for her beauty like a slave in the Circassian market. And just as he pronounced the pair man and wife the man who had been knocking unheard at the hall door strode impatiently to the parlor and looked within at the unexpected sight of a wedding party. He was a middle-aged man of distinguished appearance, with dark eyes, grizzled auburn hair and a face bronzed as from travel. No one saw him as he waited at the door, while the witnesses crowded forward with eager congratulations to the smirking bridegroom and the veiled bride. Last of all came the one who had been sitting yonder sobbing in her little lace handkerchief, and taking first the hand of Giles Bennett, she exclaimed, earnestly: “I congratulate you, sir, on winning this rare prize. She will make you very happy, I know.”