he mirror, and went
quickly down the stairs.

Fairer day could hardly have been chosen. "Happy is the bride the sun
shines on." ... In the sunshine by the stable door Mr. Strongtharm sat
polishing his gun. She asked him what sport he would be after to-day.

He answered, "None. I don't reckon 'pon luck, fishing, after a body's
mentioned rabbits; and I don't go gunning if I've seen a parson.
A new parson, I mean. Th' old Minister's all in the day's work."

"You have seen a strange clergyman to-day?"

"Yes; as I pulled home past the Ferry. I'd been down-stream early,
tryin' for eels. On my way back I saw him--over my left shoulder too.
He was comin' out o' the Inn by the waterside door, wipin' his mouth: a
loose-featured man, with one shoulder higher than t'other, and a hard
drinker by his looks."

Ruth saddled-up and mounted in silence. Fatally she recognised the old
fellow's description; but--was it possible her lover had brought this
man to marry them?--this man, whose touch was defilement, to join their
hands? If the precisians of Port Nassau had made religion her tragedy,
this man had come in, by an after-blow, to turn it into a blasphemous
farce. If Ruth had lost Faith, she yet desired good thoughts, to have
everything about her pure and holy--and on this day, of all days!

Surely Oliver--she had taught herself to call him Oliver--would never
misunderstand her so! Why, it was a misunderstanding that went down,
down, almost to the roots. _Those whom God hath joined together let no
man put asunder_ . . . but here was cleavage, and from within.
Say rather of such sundering. What man could remedy it? _Those whom
God hath joined together_--ah, by such hands!

It was not possible! In all things her lover had shown himself
considerate, tender; guessing, preventing her smallest wish.
As she rode she sought back once more to the wellspring of love.
Had he not stooped to her as a god, lifted her from the mire?
It was not possible.

Yet, as she rode, the unconquerable common sense within her kept
whispering that this thing _was_ possible. . . . It darkened the
sunlight. She rode as one who, having sung carelessly for miles,
surmises a dreadful leap close ahead. Still she rode on, less and less
sure of herself, and came to the church porch, and alighted.

The church was a plain oblong building, homely within to the last
degree. The pews were of pitch-pine, the walls and rafters coated with
white-wash