occasion to ask her a question, and then she answered in a strained,
unnatural voice. She appeared, so far as could be seen under her heavy
veil, to be crying.

"Well, this is going to be a damned cheerful wedding," said Mr. Hodskiss,
and lapsed into sulkiness.

The wedding was not so quiet as had been anticipated. The village had
got scent of it, and had spread itself upon the event, while half the
house party from G--- Hall had insisted on driving over to take part in
the proceedings. The little church was better filled than it had been
for many a long year past.

The presence of the stylish crowd unnerved the ancient clergyman, long
unaccustomed to the sight of a strange face, and the first sound of the
ancient clergyman's voice unnerved the stylish crowd. What little
articulation he possessed entirely disappeared, no one could understand a
word he said. He appeared to be uttering sounds of distress. The
ancient gentleman's infliction had to be explained in low asides, and it
also had to be explained why such an one had been chosen to perform the
ceremony.

"It was a whim of Clementina's," whispered her mother. "Her father and
myself were married from here, and he christened her. The dear child's
full of sentiment. I think it so nice of her."

Everybody agreed it was charming, but wished it were over. The general
effect was weird in the extreme.

Lord C--- spoke up fairly well, but the bride's responses were singularly
indistinct, the usual order of things being thus reversed. The story of
the naval lieutenant was remembered, and added to, and some of the more
sentimental of the women began to cry in sympathy.

In the vestry things assumed a brighter tone. There was no lack of
witnesses to sign the register. The verger pointed out to them the
place, and they wrote their names, as people in such cases do, without
stopping to read. Then it occurred to some one that the bride had not
yet signed. She stood apart, with her veil still down, and appeared to
have been forgotten. Encouraged, she came forward meekly, and took the
pen from the hand of the verger. The countess came and stood behind her.

"Mary," wrote the bride, in a hand that looked as though it ought to have
been firm, but which was not.

"Dear me," said the countess, "I never knew there was a Mary in your
name. How differently you write when you write slowly."

The bride did not answer, but followed with "Susannah."

"Why, what