The little village church stood at the extreme end of the street,—­ dark, dismal, quite awe-inspiring on a night like this.  A narrow lane stretched from the hotel to the sanctuary and beyond.  There is nothing at hand to show whether it is a Methodist, a Presbyterian, or a Baptist church.  As the two young women most vitally concerned in this tale were professedly high church, it is therefore no more than right that, in the darkness, it should be looked upon as an Episcopalian church.

Two stumbling figures, pressing close to each other in the shelter of a single wobbly umbrella, forged their uncertain way through the muddy lane.  Except for the brief instants when the dull flicker of lightning came to their relief, they were in pitch darkness.

“Beastly dark, isn’t it?” said one of the figures.

“And beastly muddy too,” said the other, in a high, disconsolate treble.  “Oh, dear, where are we?”

“I don’t know, but I feel as though we were about to step off of something every moment.  Do you know, Anne, it’s extraordinary that I shouldn’t know how to light one of these confounded lanterns.”

“Try it again, Harry dear.  I’ll hold the umbrella.”

“Oh, I see!  By Jove, one has to open the thing, don’t you know.  Ah, there we are!  That’s better,” he said, after he had succeeded in finally lighting the wick.  He held the lantern up close to her face and they looked at each other for a moment.  “Anne, I do love you!” he exclaimed.  Then he kissed her.  “That’s the first time I’ve had a chance to kiss you in thirty-six hours.”

They plodded onward, closer together than ever, coming at last to the little gate which opened into the churchyard.  Before them stood the black little building with its steeple, but the windows were as dark as Erebus.  They stopped in consternation.  He looked at his watch.

“Confound him, he’s not here!” growled Windomshire.

“Perhaps we are early,” suggested Anne, feebly.

“It’s a quarter to nine,” he said.  “I suppose there is nothing left for us to do but to wait.  I’ll look around a bit, dear.  Perhaps the witnesses are here somewhere.”

“Oo-oo-ooh!  Don’t leave me!” she almost shrieked.  “Look!  There is a graveyard!  I won’t stay here alone!” They were standing at the foot of the rough wooden steps leading up to the church door.

“Pooh!  Don’t be afraid of tombstones,” he scoffed; but he was conscious of a little shiver in his back.  “They can’t bite, you know.  Besides, all churches have graveyards and crypts and—­”

“This one has no crypt,” she announced positively.  “Goodness, I’m mud up to my knees and rain down to them.  Why doesn’t he come?”

“I’ll give the signal; we had to arrange one, you know, for the sake of identity.”  He gave three loud, guttural coughs.  A dog in the distance howled mournfully, as if in response.  Anne crept closer to his side.