s existence. Diana's wedding came first. De Chaucombe
behaved a little more amiably than usual, and, contrary to all his
habits, actually offered his hand to assist his bride to rise. Then
Diana fell back to the side of the Countess, and Fulk to that of the
Earl, and Clarice recognised that the moment of her sacrifice was come.

With one passionately pleading look at the Lady Margaret--who met it as
if she had been made of stone--Clarice slowly moved forward to the
altar. She shuddered inwardly as Vivian Barkeworth took her hand into
his clasp, and answered the queries addressed to her in so low a voice
that Father Miles took the words for granted. It seemed only a few
minutes before she woke to the miserable truth that she was now Vivian's
wife, and that to think any more of Piers Ingham was a sin against God.

Clarice dragged herself through the bridal festivities--how, she never
knew. Diana was the life of the party. So bright and gay she was that
she might never have heard of such a thing as disappointment. She
danced with everybody, entered into all the games with the zest of an
eager child, and kept the hall ringing with merry laughter, while
Clarice moved through them all as if a weight of lead were upon her, and
looked as though she should never smile again. Accident at length threw
the two brides close together.

"Art thou going to look thus woe-begone all thy life through, Clarice?"
inquired the Lady De Chaucombe.

"I do not know," answered Clarice, gloomily. "I only hope it will not
be long."

"What will not be long?--thy sorrowful looks?"

"No--my life."

"Don't let me hear such nonsense," exclaimed Diana, with a little of her
old sharpness. "Men are all deceivers, child. There is not one of them
worth spoiling a woman's life for. Clarice, don't be a simpleton!"

"Not more than I can help," said Clarice, with the shadow of a smile;
and then De Echingham came up and besought her hand for the next dance,
and she was caught away again into the whirl.

The dancing, which was so much a matter of course at a wedding, that
even the Countess did not venture to interfere with it, was followed by
the hoydenish romps which were considered equally necessary, and which
fell into final desuetude about the period of the accession of the House
of Hanover. King Charles the First's good taste had led him to frown
upon them, and utterly to prohibit them at his own wedding; but the
people in general were