but he did so now, and
Katy's tears dropped upon the pale, soft pearls as she whispered: "I
shall like your father. I never thought of having things like these."

Nor had she, but she would grow to them very soon, while even the family
gathering around and sharing in her joy began to realize how great a
lady their Katy was to be. It was late that night ere anybody slept, if
sleep at all they did, which was doubtful, unless it were the bride, who
with Wilford's kisses warm upon her lips, crept up to bed just as the
clock was striking twelve, nor woke until it was again chiming for six,
and over her Helen bent, a dark ring about her eyes and her face very
white as she whispered: "Wake, Katy darling, this is your wedding day."

CHAPTER X.

MARRIAGE AT ST. JOHN'S.

There were more than a few lookers-on to see Katy Lennox married, and
the church was literally jammed for full three-quarters of an hour
before the appointed time. Back by the door, where she commanded a full
view of the middle aisle, Marian Hazelton sat, her face as white as
ashes, and her eyes gleaming strangely wild even from beneath the
thickly dotted veil she wore over her hat. Doubts as to her wisdom in
coming there were agitating her mind, but something kept her sitting
just as others sat waiting for the bride until the sexton, opening wide
the doors, and assuming an added air of consequence, told the anxious
spectators that the party had arrived--Uncle Ephraim and Katy, Wilford
and Mrs. Lennox, Dr. Morris and Helen, Aunt Hannah and Aunt Betsy--that
was all, and they came slowly up the aisle, while countless eyes were
turned upon them, every woman noticing Katy's dress sweeping the carpet
with so long a trail, and knowing by some queer female instinct that it
was city-made, and not the handiwork of Marian Hazelton, panting for
breath in that pew near the door, and trying to forget herself by
watching Dr. Grant. She could not have told what Katy wore; she would
not have sworn that Katy was there, for she saw only two, Wilford and
Morris Grant. She could have touched the former as he passed her by, and
she did breathe the odor of his garments while her hands clasped each
other tightly, and then she turned to Morris Grant, growing content with
her own pain, so much less than his as he stood before the altar with
Wilford Cameron between him and the bride which should have been his.
How pretty she was in her wedding garb, and how like a bird her voic