e looked older than when she had seen him last, was
stouter and ill, with white puffy cheeks and dark shadows under his
eyes. She saw him very clearly under the light of two candles that
wavered a little in the draught.

He was staring into the mirror, absorbed apparently in what he saw
there. She cried his name and he seemed to start and turn towards the
door listening. Then the picture faded. She woke to find herself
sitting up in bed crying his name ...

In the morning she drove this dream away from her, refusing to think of
it or listen to it, but somewhere far down in her soul something
trembled.

The wedding was over so quickly that she scarcely realised it. There
was the stuffy little church, very empty and dusty, with brass plates
on the wall. She could hear, in the street, rumblings of carts and the
rattle of wheels; somewhere a barrel-organ played. The clergyman was a
little man who smiled upon her kindly. When Paul put the ring on her
finger she started as though for a moment she awoke from a dream. She
was glad that he looked so clean and tidy. Grace was wearing too grand
a hat with black feathers. In the vestry Paul kissed her, and then they
walked down the aisle together. She saw Katherine and Millie and Henry.
Her fingers caught tightly about Paul's stout arm, but she would have
been more at home she thought with Uncle Mathew just then.

It was a nice bright spring day, although the wind blew the dust about.
They had a meal in Katherine's house and some one made a speech, and
Maggie drank some champagne. She hoped she looked nice in her grey silk
dress, and then caught sight of herself in a glass and thought she was
as ever a fright.

"My little wild thing--mine now," whispered Paul. She thought that
rather silly; she was not a wild thing, but simply Maggie Cardinal. Oh,
no! Maggie Trenchard ... She did not feel Maggie Trenchard at all and
she did not suppose that she ever would.

They were to have a fortnight alone at Skeaton before Grace came.
Maggie was glad of that. Paul was really nicer when Grace was not there.

They were all very kind to her. They had given her good
presents--Millie some silver brushes, Henry some books, Philip a fan,
and Katherine a most beautiful dressing-bag. Maggie had never had such
things before. But she could have wished for something from her own
people. She had written to Uncle Mathew but had not heard from him.

At the very last moment, on the morning of the wedd