ad contemplated was fluttering her heart and
almost paralyzing her limbs. But Curtis was unemotional as an icicle;
or, at any rate, he looked it, which was all that the half-hysterical
girl by his side could ascertain by an occasional timid glance. The
fact lent her a sort of courage to persevere to the end, and she signed
her maiden name for the last time with a numb confidence in the man
whom she had, so to speak, bargained for as a husband in an emergency.

Curtis did not fail to note that the aged clergyman's handwriting was
crabbed and palsied as his bent frame. None could tell, for certain,
whether he wrote "Jean" or "John," "Courtois" or "Curtis," though,
indeed, the balance of probability inclined to the latter of the two
names, Christian and surname, since those were indubitably what he
meant to write.

Then, having stated his fee, and been paid for the ring, he handed
Hermione a copy of the certificate.

"Treasure that during all your days, Mrs. Curtis," he said. "May it be
a charter of lasting happiness and content!"

Mrs. Curtis! Another shock! Hermione felt that she would scream if
there were many more such. And the pressure of the little gold ring on
the third finger of her left hand was becoming intolerable. Iron, it
used to be, said the minister, and a band of iron it seemed to have
become since this man whom she had taken, so completely on trust had
placed it there.

On the way out, Curtis tipped Jenkins, tipped him so lavishly that a
queer little voice squeaked from a queer little face:

"Thank you, sir. Fair weather to both you and your wife, and a safe
berth when you drop anchor!"

So Jenkins had been a sailor, for none but a shell-back would put his
good wishes in such nautical lingo.

"I have just finished one long voyage, but seem to have begun another,"
said Curtis to his "wife." He accompanied the words with a laugh, and
was really talking for the sake of breaking an awkward silence. They
were descending a few steps from the door, and he noticed that a
private automobile was speeding down the street from the same direction
as the taxi had taken. It swung close to the curb, and was pulled up
barely a yard short of the waiting cab, whose engine the driver was
starting with the crank.

A shout came from the interior, and a man leaped out. The street was
rather dark in that part, but Hermione recognized the stranger
instantly.

"Count Vassilan!" she cried, and the fear in h