of the Hargrave household, were the only persons present keenly conscious that there was in progress a wedding, a supposedly irrevocable union of a man and woman for life and for death and for posterity.  Even old Dr. Hargrave was thinking of what Dory was to do on the other side, was mentally going over the elaborate scheme for his son’s guidance which he had drawn up and committed to paper.  Judge Torrey, the only outsider, was putting into form the speech he intended to make at the wedding breakfast.

But there was no wedding breakfast—­at least, none for bride and groom.  The instant the ceremony was over, Mary the cook whispered to Mrs. Ranger:  “Mike says they’ve just got time to miss the train.”

“Good gracious!” cried Mrs. Ranger.  And she darted out to halt the van and count the trunks.  Then she rushed in and was at Adelaide’s arm.  “Hurry, child!” she exclaimed.  “Here is my present for you.”

And she thrust into her hand a small black leather case, the cover of a letter of credit.  Seeing that Del was too dazed to realize what was going on, she snatched it away and put it into the traveling case which Mary was carrying.  Amid much shaking hands and kissing and nervous crying, amid flooding commonplaces and hysterical repetitions of “Good-by!  Good luck!” the young people were got off.  There was no time for Mary to bring the rice from the kitchen table, but Ellen had sequestered one of Adelaide’s old dancing slippers under the front stair.  She contrived to get it out and into action, and to land it full in Adelaide’s lap by a lucky carom against the upright of the coach window.

Adelaide looked down at it vaguely.  It was one of a pair of slippers she had got for the biggest and most fashionable ball she had ever attended.  She remembered it all—­the gorgeousness of the rooms, the flowers, the dresses, the favors, her own ecstasy in being where it was supposed to be so difficult to get; how her happiness had been marred in the early part of the evening by Ross’s attendance on Helen Galloway in whose honor the ball was given; how he made her happy again by staying beside her the whole latter part of the evening, he and more young men than any other girl had.  And here was the slipper, with its handsome buckle torn off, stained, out of shape from having been so long cast aside.  Where did it come from?  How did it get here?  Why had this ghost suddenly appeared to her?  On the opposite seat, beside her traveling case, fashionable, obviously expensive, with her initials in gold, was a bag marked “T.H.”—­of an unfashionable appearance, obviously inexpensive, painfully new.  She could not take her fascinated eyes from it; and the hammering of her blood upon her brain, as the carriage flew toward the station, seemed to be a voice monotonously repeating, “Married—­married—­” She shuddered.  “My fate is settled for life,” she said to herself.  “I am married!”