the solemn words, in the shaded summer parlor,
with the door open into the sweeter and stiller shade without.

Faith stood by her sister's side, in fair, white robes, and Mr. Robert
Selmore was groomsman to his brother. A few especial friends from
Mishaumok and Lakeside were present to witness the ceremony.

And then there was a kissing--a hand-shaking--a well-wishing--a going
out to the simple but elegantly arranged collation--a disappearance of
the bride to put on traveling array--a carriage at the door--smiles,
tears, and good-bys--Mr., and Mrs., and Mr. Robert Selmore were off to
meet the Western train--and all was over.

Mrs. Etherege remained a few days longer at Cross Corners. As Mis'
Battis judiciously remarked, "after a weddin' or a funeral, there ought
to be somebody to stay a while and cheer up the mourners."

This visit, that had been so full of happenings, was to have a strange
occurrence still to mark it, before all fell again into the usual order.

Aunt Etherege was to go on Thursday. On Wednesday, the three ladies sat
together in the cool, open parlor, where Mr. Armstrong, walking over
from the Old House, had joined them. He had the July number of the
_Mishaumok_ in his hand, and a finger between the fresh-cut leaves at a
poem he would read them.

Just as he had finished the last stanza, amidst a hush of the room that
paid tribute to the beauty of the lines and his perfect rendering of
them, wheels came round from the high road into the lane.

"It is Mr. Gartney come back from Sedgely," said Aunt Etherege, looking
from her window, between the blinds. "Whom on earth has he picked up to
bring with him?"

A thin, angular figure of a woman, destitute of crinoline, wearing big
boots, and a bonnet that ignored the fashion, and carrying in her hand a
black enameled leather bag, was alighting as she spoke, at the gate.

"Mother!" said Faith, leaning forward, and glancing out, also, "it looks
like--it is--Nurse Sampson!"

And she put her work hastily from her lap, and rose to go out at the
side door, to meet and welcome her.

To do this, she had to pass by Mr. Armstrong. How came that rigid look,
that deadly paleness, to his face? What spasm of pain made him clutch
the pamphlet he held with fingers that grew white about the nails?

Faith stopped, startled.

"Mr. Armstrong! Are you not well?" said she. At the same instant of her
pausing, Miss Sampson entered from the hall, behind her. Mr. Armstrong's