zona deserts again, but
defiantly determined to hold his own and glare the people down. Men of
the artillery and engineers, too, are ushered into their seats, and then
everybody seems to be settled; it lacks but two minutes of eight by the
watch, and a military wedding must be of all things on time. Suppressed
excitement can be heard without. The doors leading into the vestibule
are closed. Everybody is staring back at the church entrance, and still
the sacristy door remains firmly shut. Surely 'tis time for the groom
and his best man to appear there; one minute of eight and no sign. Who
in all that crowd could dream that Ray and Blake have vainly stormed the
vestry door and found it locked? By some unaccountable error the sexton
has barred their entrance as well as that of the intrusive uninvited
whom he meant to exclude.

"What on earth shall we do, Billy?" quoth Blake. "I can heave a brick
through the window and crawl in after it. It will ruin our uniforms, but
we'll get there on time."

"Back to the front!" says Ray, pardonably white and tremulous. "We can
scurry up the side-aisle. It's our only chance now!" So back they go,
and the next instant the vestibule door opens just a few inches, the
congregation rises to a--woman, and two slim-built fellows in full
cavalry uniform, the long yellow plumes of their carried helmets
floating behind them and their sabres clattering, hasten up to the head
of the church just as the tower clock booms the first stroke of eight.
Organ, orchestra, and ringing voices burst into triumphant melody, the
vestibule doors fly open, and, headed by the crucifer and his sacred
emblem, the white surpliced choristers come thronging up the centre
aisle, while the whole congregation turns and faces them, as wedding
congregations will, and the lofty rafters ring with the exultant
strains,--

"Hark! hark, my soul! Angelic songs are swelling."

Slowly, reverently, they move up through the broad lane, flanked by
eager faces; the choristers are followed by the brilliant party of
ushers,--soldier and civilian,--the gray-haired father and his handsome
wife; then come the fair bridesmaids, two and two, all in fleecy silk,
and bearing dainty bouquets of daisies tied with the cavalry colors,
while between the last two, sister and cousin, and as though led by
them, veiled, and with downcast eyes, a matchless picture of sweet
womanly grace and beauty, is Marion.

The choristers file to their places,