n
the guests even while the carriages were standing at the door.

Lesley and Mrs. Romaine happened to be placed in the same carriage,
facing one another. They looked at one another in silence, but with a
mutual understanding that they had never felt before. Each read her own
fear in the other's face. But the fear came from different sources.
Lesley was afraid that Oliver had felt himself unable to fulfil his
engagement to Ethel, and had therefore severed his connection with her
by flight: Rosalind feared that he had been taken ill or met with some
untoward accident. Only in Rosalind's mind there was always another fear
in the background where her brothers were concerned--that one or other
of them would be bringing himself and her to disaster and disgrace. She
had no faith in them, and not much faith in herself.

There was no bridegroom in waiting at St. Pancras' Church. Mrs. Romaine
held a hurried consultation with a friend, and a messenger was
despatched to Oliver's club, where he sometimes slept, and also to the
rooms which he called his "chambers" in the city. A little silence
overspread the group of guests from the Kenyons' house. Other visitors,
of whom there were not many, looked blithe enough; but gloom was plainly
visible on the faces of the bride's friends. And a little whisper soon
ran from group to group--"The bridegroom has not come."

If only he would appear before the bride! There was yet time. The
carriage containing Ethel and her brother had not started from the door.
But the distance was short, and speedily traversed: still Oliver did not
come. And there at last was the wedding-chariot with its white silk
linings and the white favors on the horses--and there was the pretty,
smiling bride herself upon her brother's arm. How sweet she looked as
she mounted the broad grey steps, with cheeks a little rosy, eyes
downcast, and her smiles half concealed by the costly lace in which she
had veiled herself! There was never a prettier bride than Ethel Kenyon,
although she had not attired herself in all the bridal finery that many
women covet.

Something in the expression of the faces that met her at the church door
startled her a little when she first looked up: she changed color, and
glanced wonderingly from one to another. Some one spoke in Maurice
Kenyon's ear.

"What is it?" she asked, quickly. "Is anything wrong?"

"Oliver is late, dear, that is all. Just wait a minute--here by the
door: he will be her