, and the little church,
with its tall spire and glittering cross. She saw it all in a vague,
lost sort of way, and was in the church and seated in a pew, and
listening and looking on, like a person walking in her sleep. Her father
going to be married! How strange and unnatural it seemed. She had never
grown familiarized with the idea, perhaps because she would never
indulge it, and now he was kneeling on the altar steps, with Frank
Danton beside him, and Eeny at Grace's left hand, and the Cure and
Father Francis were there in stole and surplice, and the ceremony was
going on. She saw the ring put on Grace's finger, she heard the Cure's
French accented voice, "Henry Danton, wilt thou have Grace Danton to be
thy wedded wife?" and that firm, clear "I will," in reply.

Then it was all over; they were married. Her pale face drooped on the
front rail of the pew, and wet it with a rain of hot tears.

The wedding quartet were going into the sacristy to register their
names. She could linger no longer, although she felt as if she would
like to stay there and die, so she arose and went wearily after. Her
father looked at her with anxious, imploring eyes; she went up and
kissed him, with a smile on her colourless face.

"I hope you will be very happy, papa," she whispered.

And then she turned to Grace, and touched her cold lips to the bride's
flushed cheek.

"I wish you very much happiness, Mrs. Danton," she said.

Yes, she could never be mother--she was only Mrs. Danton, her father's
wife; but Father Francis gave her a kindly, approving glance, even for
this. She turned away from him with a weary sigh. Oh, what trouble and
mockery everything was? What a dreary, wretched piece of business life
was altogether! The sense of loneliness and desolation weighed on her
heart, this dull December morning, like lead.

There was to be a wedding-breakfast, but the Cure, and Father Francis,
and Doctor Frank were the only guests.

Kate sat at her father's side--Grace presided now, Grace was mistress of
the Hall--and listened in the same dazed and dreary way to the confusion
of tongues, the fire of toasts, the clatter of china and silver, and the
laughter of the guests. She sat very still, eating and drinking, because
she must eat and drink to avoid notice, and never thinking how beautiful
she looked in her blue silk dress, her neck and arms gleaming like ivory
against azure. What would it ever matter again how she looked?

Captain a