“There comes your fate.”

Emerson’s eyes followed the direction of her finger.

“You speak in riddles,” he replied, looking back into the maiden’s face.  “What do you see?”

“A little white blemish on the deepening azure,” was answered.  “There it lies, just over that stately horse-chestnut, whose branches arch themselves into the outline of a great cathedral window.”

“A scarcely perceptible cloud?”

“Yes, no bigger than a hand; and just below it is another.”

“I see; and yet you still propound a riddle.  What has that cloud to do with my fate?”

“You know the old superstition connected with wedding-days?”

“What?”

“That as the aspect of the day is, so will the wedded life be.”

“Ours, then, is full of promise.  There has been no fairer day than this,” said the young man.

“Yet many a day that opened as bright and cloudless has sobbed itself away in tears.”

“True; and it may be so again.  But I am no believer in signs.”

“Nor I,” said the young lady, again laughing.

The bride came up at this moment and, hearing the remark of her young husband, said, as she drew her arm within his—­

“What about signs, Hartley?”

“Miss Carman has just reminded me of the superstition about wedding-days, as typical of life.”

“Oh yes, I remember,” said Irene, smiling.  “If the day opens clear, then becomes cloudy, and goes out in storm, there will be happiness in the beginning, but sorrow at the close; but if clouds and rain herald its awakening, then pass over and leave the sky blue and sunny, there will be trouble at first, but smiling peace as life progresses and declines.  Our sky is bright as heart could wish.”  And the bride looked up into the deep blue ether.

Miss Carman laid one hand upon her arm and with the other pointed lower down, almost upon the horizon’s edge, saying, in a tone of mock solemnity—­

“As I said to Mr. Emerson, so I now say to you—­There comes our fate.”

“You don’t call that the herald of an approaching storm?”

“Weatherwise people say,” answered the maiden, “that a sky without a cloud is soon followed by stormy weather.  Since morning until now there has not a cloud been seen."’

“Weatherwise people and almanac-makers speak very oracularly, but the day of auguries and signs is over,” replied Irene.

“Philosophy,” said Mr. Emerson, “is beginning to find reasons in the nature of things for results that once seemed only accidental, yet followed with remarkable certainty the same phenomena.  It discovers a relation of cause and effect where ignorance only recognizes some power working in the dark.”

“So you pass me over to the side of ignorance!” Irene spoke in a tone that Hartley’s ear recognized too well.  His remark had touched her pride.