e bridegroom, was a man of many
friends, and the bride's mother prided herself upon the width of her own
social circle.

In the midst of the fuss and tumult the bride, very grave and serene,
with shining eyes, went her appointed way. Everyone was loud in her
praise. Her bearing was admirable. She was as one on whom a veil of
happiness had fallen, and external things scarcely touched her.

She went through her part steadfastly and well, forgetful utterly of the
watching crowds, conscious only of one being in all that critical
multitude, holding only one thought in the silent sanctuary of her soul.

And Chris, the chief bridesmaid, walking alone behind her, watched and
marvelled. She liked Lord Percy Davenant. He was big, good-natured,
rollicking, and many a joke had they had together. But no faintest tinge
of romance hung about him in her opinion. She could not with the utmost
effort of the imagination see what there was in him to bring that light
into Hilda's eyes.

It was odd, thought Chris, very odd. If it had been Trevor, now--She
could quite easily have understood it if Hilda had fallen in love with
him. And they would have been eminently well suited to one another, too.
Yes, it was very strange, quite unaccountable! Here she remembered that
Trevor was probably somewhere in the crowd behind her, and peeped over
her shoulder surreptitiously to get a glimpse of him.

She was not successful, but she caught the eye of one of the bridesmaids
immediately behind her, who leaned forward with a merry smile to whisper,
"Your turn next!"

Chris turned back sharply. The words had a curious effect upon her; they
gave her almost a sensation of shock. Her turn next to face this ordeal
through which Hilda was passing with such supreme confidence! Would she
feel as Hilda felt when she came to stand with Trevor before the altar?
Would that thrill of deep sincerity be in her voice also as she repeated
the vows irrevocable which were even now leaving Hilda's lips? Would her
eyes meet his with the same pure gladness of love made perfect?

A sudden tremor went through her. She shivered from head to foot. The
scent of the flowers she held--Hilda's flowers and her own--seemed to
turn her sick. She felt overpowered--lost!

Desperately she clutched her wavering self-control. This ghastly,
unspeakable doubt must not conquer her. No one must know it--no one must
see!

But she was as one slipping down a steep incline, faster and faste