She was not successful, but she caught the eye of one of the bridesmaids immediately behind her, who leaned forward with a merry smile to whisper, “Your turn next!”

Chris turned back sharply.  The words had a curious effect upon her; they gave her almost a sensation of shock.  Her turn next to face this ordeal through which Hilda was passing with such supreme confidence!  Would she feel as Hilda felt when she came to stand with Trevor before the altar?  Would that thrill of deep sincerity be in her voice also as she repeated the vows irrevocable which were even now leaving Hilda’s lips?  Would her eyes meet his with the same pure gladness of love made perfect?

A sudden tremor went through her.  She shivered from head to foot.  The scent of the flowers she held—­Hilda’s flowers and her own—­seemed to turn her sick.  She felt overpowered—­lost!

Desperately she clutched her wavering self-control.  This ghastly, unspeakable doubt must not conquer her.  No one must know it—­no one must see!

But she was as one slipping down a steep incline, faster and faster every second.  The beating of her heart rose up and deafened her.  It was like someone beating a tattoo in the church.  She could not hear another word of the service.  And she was suffocating with the nauseous sweetness of the bridal flowers.  Wildly she looked around her.  Where was Trevor?  He would help her.  He would understand—­he always understood.  But she sought him in vain.  There was only the long line of bridesmaids behind her and a sea of indistinct faces on each side.

She lifted her head and gasped.  She felt as if she were being smothered in flowers.  Their heavy perfume stifled her.  She understood now why some people wouldn’t have flowers at their funerals.  She had always thought it odd before.

She was slipping more and more rapidly down that fatal slope.  The sunlight that lay in a great bar of vivid colours across the church danced before her eyes.  She no longer saw the bridal couple in front of her.  They had faded quite away, and in their stead was a terrible abyss of flowers—­bridal flowers that made her sick and faint.

She swayed as she stood.  Who was that speaking?  Certain solemn words had pierced her reeling brain.  She heard them as if they came from another world—­

“Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”

Those words would be uttered over her next.  Perhaps they were meant for her even now.  Surely it was her own wedding and not Hilda’s, after all!  She was being married, and she wasn’t ready!  Oh, it was horrible—­horrible!  And where was Trevor, or Bertie, or someone—­anyone—­ to hold her back from that dreadful, scented darkness?

Ah!  An arm supporting her!  A steady hand that took the flowers away!  Trevor at last!  She turned and clung to him weakly, crying like a frightened child.  Her knees would not support her any longer, they doubled under her weight.  But he lifted her without effort, almost as if she had been a child indeed, and carried her away.