e compliments paid him, proposed--the fair
bridesmaids.

And so the breakfast proceeded.

They sat at table an hour, and then, at a signal from Mrs. Middleton,
all arose.

The gentlemen adjourned to the little breakfast parlor to drink a
parting glass with their host in something stronger than the light
French breakfast wines they had been quaffing so freely.

And the bride, followed by all her attendants, went up to her room to
change her bridal robe and veil for her traveling dress and bonnet; as
the pair were to take the one o'clock train to Baltimore en route for
New York, Niagara, and the Lakes.

She found her dressing room all restored to the dreary good order that
spoke of abandonment. Her rich dresses and jewels and bridal presents
were all packed up. And every trunk was locked and corded and ready for
transportation to the railway station, except one large trunk that stood
open, with its upper tray waiting for the bridal dress she was about to
put off.

Ruth, who had been very busy with all this packing, while the wedding
party were at church and at breakfast, now stood with the brown silk
dress and mantle that was to be Claudia's traveling costume, laid over
her arm.

Claudia, assisted by Mrs. Middleton, changed her dress with the feverish
haste of one who longed to get a painful ordeal over; and while Ruth
hastily packed away the wedding finery and closed the last trunk,
Claudia tied on her brown silk bonnet and drew on her gloves and
expressed herself ready to depart.

They went downstairs to the drawing room, where all the wedding guests
were once more gathered to see the young pair off.

There was no time to lose, and so all her friends gathered around the
bride to receive her adieus and to express their good wishes.

One by one she bade them farewell.

When she came to her cousin, Bee burst into tears and whispered:

"God forgive you, poor Claudia! God avert from you all evil consequences
of your own act!"

She caught her breath, wrung Bee's hand and turned away, and looked
around. She had taken leave of all except her father and Ishmael.

Her father she knew would accompany her as far as the railway station,
for he had said as much.

But there was Ishmael.

As she went up to him slowly and fearfully, every vein and artery in her
body seemed to throb with the agony of her heart. She tried to speak;
but could utter no articulate sound. She held out her hand; but he did
not take it; th