pied by a
local magistrate. The grounds were ample, filled with shade and fruit
trees, and fronted upon the lake. Laura had never seen her future
country home. But for the past month Jadwin had had a small army of
workmen and mechanics busy about the place, and had managed to
galvanise the contractors with some of his own energy and persistence.
There was every probability that the house and grounds would be
finished in time.

"Very well," said Laura, in answer to his question, "at ten we'll be
ready. Good-night." She held out her hand. But Jadwin put it quickly
aside, and took her swiftly and strongly into his arms, and turning her
face to his, kissed her cheek again and again.

Laura submitted, protesting:

"Curtis! Such foolishness. Oh, dear; can't you love me without
crumpling me so? Curtis! Please. You are so rough with me, dear."

She pulled away from him, and looked up into his face, surprised to
find it suddenly flushed; his eyes were flashing.

"My God," he murmured, with a quick intake of breath, "my God, how I
love you, my girl! Just the touch of your hand, the smell of your hair.
Oh, sweetheart. It is wonderful! Wonderful!" Then abruptly he was
master of himself again.

"Good-night," he said. "Good-night. God bless you," and with the words
was gone.

They were married on the last day of June of that summer at eleven
o'clock in the morning in the church opposite Laura's house--the
Episcopalian church of which she was a member. The wedding was very
quiet. Only the Cresslers, Miss Gretry, Page, and Aunt Wess' were
present. Immediately afterward the couple were to take the train for
Geneva Lake--Jadwin having chartered a car for the occasion.

But the weather on the wedding day was abominable. A warm drizzle,
which had set in early in the morning, developed by eleven o'clock into
a steady downpour, accompanied by sullen grumblings of very distant
thunder.

About an hour before the appointed time Laura insisted that her aunt
and sister should leave her. She would allow only Mrs. Cressler to help
her. The time passed. The rain continued to fall. At last it wanted but
fifteen minutes to eleven.

Page and Aunt Wess', who presented themselves at the church in advance
of the others, found the interior cool, dark, and damp. They sat down
in a front pew, talking in whispers, looking about them. Druggeting
shrouded the reader's stand, the baptismal font, and bishop's chair.
Every footfall and every minute s