“You will find everything you require laid out on your bed, Walter.”

“You are the best little sister that ever was born.  I doubt whether I shall let Ishmael, or anyone else, hate you until I get a wife of my own; and even then I don’t know but what I shall want you home to look after her and the children!” rattled Walter, careless or unobservant of the deep blush that mantled the maiden’s face.

“Ishmael,” said the judge, “I wish you to take the fourth seat in the carriage with myself and daughter and Beatrice.  Will you do so?”

Ishmael’s emotions nearly choked him, but he answered: 

“Certainly, if you wish.”

“The four bridesmaids will fill the second carriage, and Mr. and Mrs. Middleton, Mr. Brudenell and Walter the third, I do not know the arrangements made for our other friends; but I dare say it is all right.  Oh, Ishmael, I feel as though we were arranging a procession to the grave instead of the altar,” he added, with a heavy sigh.  Then correcting himself, he said:  “But this is all very morbid.  So no more of it.”

And the judge wrung Ishmael’s hand; and each went his separate way to dress for the wedding.

Meanwhile the bride-elect sat alone in her luxurious dressing room.

Around her, scattered over tables, chairs, and stands, lay the splendid paraphernalia of her bridal array—­rich dresses, mantles, bonnets, veils, magnificent shawls, sparkling jewels, blooming flowers, intoxicating perfumes.

On the superb malachite stand beside her stood a silver tray, on which was arranged an elegant breakfast service of Bohemian china.  But the breakfast was untasted and forgotten.

There was no one to watch her; she had sent her maid away with orders not to return until summoned by her bell.

And now, while her coffee unheeded grew cold, she sat, leaning forward in her easy-chair, with her hands tightly clasped together over her knees, her tumbled black ringlets fallen down upon her dressing gown, and her eyes flared open and fixed in a dreadful stare upon the far distance as if spellbound by some horror there.

To have seen her thus, knowing that she was a bride-elect, you might have judged that she was about to be forced into some loathed marriage, from which her whole tortured nature revolted.

And you would have judged truly.  She was being thus forced into such a marriage, not by any tyrannical parent or guardian, for flesh and blood could not have forced Claudia Merlin into any measure she had set her will against.  She was forced by the demon Pride, who had taken possession of her soul.

And now she sat alone with her sin, dispossessed of all her better self, face to face with her lost soul.

She was aroused by the entrance of Mrs. Middleton—­Mrs. Middleton in full carriage-dress—­robe and mantle of mauve-colored moire-antique, a white lace bonnet with mauve-colored flowers, and white kid gloves finished at the wrists with mauve ribbon quillings.