“How beautiful, very beautiful,” fell like a pleasant ripple upon the ear of Jeanette Roland, as she approached the altar, beneath her wreath of orange blossoms, while her bridal veil floated like a cloud of lovely mist from her fair young head.  The vows were spoken, the bridal ring placed upon her finger, and amid a train of congratulating friends, she returned home where a sumptuous feast awaited them.

“Don’t talk so loud, but I think Belle Gordon acted wisely when she refused Mr. Romaine,” said Mrs. Gladstone, one of the guests.

“Do you, indeed?  Why Charles Romaine, is the only son of Mr. Romaine, and besides being the heir he has lately received a large legacy from his grandfather’s estate.  I think Jeanette has made a splendid match.  I hope my girls will do as well.”

“I hope on the other hand that my girls will never marry unless they do better.”

“Why how you talk!  What’s the matter with Mr. Romaine?”

“Look at him now,” said Mrs. Fallard joining in the conversation.  “This is his wedding night and yet you can plainly see he is under the influence of wine.  Look at those eyes, don’t you know how beautiful and clear they are when he is sober, and how very interesting he is in conversation.  Now look at him, see how muddled his eye is—­but he is approaching—­listen to his utterance, don’t you notice how thick it is?  Now if on his wedding night, he can not abstain, I have very grave fears for Jeanette’s future.”

“Perhaps you are both right, but I never looked at things in that light before, and I know that a magnificent fortune can melt like snow in the hands of a drunken man.”

“I wish you much joy,” rang out a dozen voices, as Jeanette approached them.  “Oh Jeanette, you just look splendid! and Mr. Romaine, oh he is so handsome.”  “Oh Jeanette what’s to hinder you from being so happy?” “But where is Mr. Romaine? we have missed him for some time.”  “I don’t know, let me seek my husband.”  “Isn’t that a mouthful?” said Jeanette laughingly disengaging herself from the merry group, as an undefined sense of apprehension swept over her.  Was it a presentiment of coming danger?  An unspoken prophecy to be verified by bitter tears, and lonely fear that seemed for a moment to turn life’s sweetness into bitterness and gall.  In the midst of a noisy group, in the dining room, she found Charles drinking the wine as it gave its color aright in the cup.  She saw the deep flush upon his cheek, and the cloudiness of his eye, and for the first time upon that bridal night she felt a shiver of fear as the veil was suddenly lifted before her unwilling eye; and half reluctantly she said to herself, “Suppose after all my cousin Belle was right.”

Chapter XVI

“Good morning!  Mr. Clifford,” said Joe Gough, entering the store of Paul Clifford, the next day after he joined the Reform Club.  “I have heard that you wanted some one to help you, and I am ready to do anything to make an honest living.”