ooked to Kate's eyes amazingly young; and as he
stood gazing down at the exquisite little white-clad figure beside him,
there was such an expression of pride in his face, of incredulous,
reverent happiness, that it was all his new mother-in-law could do to
keep from kissing him before the ceremony was over.

Jemima herself was as calm as might have been expected; perhaps calmer.
At the critical moment, when Philip's grave voice was beginning: "Dearly
beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God"--the bride
was heard to murmur to her attendant, "Jacky, pull my train out
straight." Thereafter, she fixed her eye upon a certain flintlock rifle
over the mantel-piece, which had won the first Kentucky Kildare his way
into the virgin wilderness, and went through the ceremony with the
aplomb of a general directing his forces into battle. The mother
wondered what the girl was thinking of, staring so fixedly at the old
rifle. Perhaps she was vowing to be worthy of it in the new wilderness
she was about to tread.

Afterwards for an hour or so Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe had graciously received
the uninvited guests of both colors who had come "to see the bride off."
Then the two sisters went upstairs together to change into the
going-away dress; and Kate, presently following, found Jemima alone.

"I thought you would come, Mother. That's why I sent Jacky away."

Kate, a little tremulous herself, had counted upon the bride's composure
to carry the day; but behold! it was suddenly a thing of the past. She
ducked her head and ran into her mother's arms as if she were trying to
hide from something, breathless, panic-stricken; and Kate soothed her
silently with tender hands.

Presently Jemima whispered in a queer little voice, "Mother? Now that we
are both married women, tell me--Was my father--was my father good to
you?"

"My little girl! You need never worry about Jim's being good to you."

"Oh, Jim--of course!--I'm not thinking of him, I'm thinking of you.
If--if my father was not good to you, I can understand--I see--"

Then Kate realized what she was trying to say. This cold, proud child of
hers was willing to give up her pride in her father, if so be she might
hold fast again to the old faith in her mother.

The temptation was great, but Kate put it from her. She could not rob
dead Basil of his child's respect.

"You must never blame your father, dear, for any weakness of mine," she
said, steadily.

But the girl