traight
to the train from here."

The time dragged slowly for John. He saw a few persons eying him with
mild interest as the brother of the bride, but most of the others were
occupied in exchanging jests or greetings with this or that acquaintance
as their heads met over the backs of the seats. To while away the time,
and for the sheer love of it, a man who was a sort of leader in church
singing suddenly began to sing a well-known revival hymn, and the others
joined in lustily. John detested it. He had heard it during his isolated
childhood at Ridgeville, later at Cranston, and here it was a strident
requiem over the bier of his last hope. He was inclined to
self-analysis, and he wondered if any of the audience could imagine the
dark and rebellious state of mind that he was in. He was not jealous of
Harold, he did not begrudge Dora's happiness or desire to curb the
festive mood of the people around him. He was simply in despair and
could see no way of escape. He tried to think of going back to the
office the next day and plunging into work, but how could he do so
without some aim in life? Dora had refused financial aid from him. Of
what account were his past earnings or those of the future?

The singing was brought to an abrupt end. Mrs. McGwire, who had
stationed herself at the street door, suddenly cried out, "They are
coming!" and a fluttering silence brooded on the room.

Dora and Harold, accompanied by Mr. Kirkwood, entered the adjoining
Sunday-school room from the street with the playful intent to deceive
the audience, who were watching the front, and the McGwires all hastened
through a doorway near the pulpit to greet them. Betty, a tall,
dignified young lady in a becoming street dress, ran across to John.

"Will you come speak to them now, or afterward?" she asked, smiling.

"Afterward," he answered, flushing under the composite stare of the
whole room and irritated by being made so conspicuous.

"But you won't have a very good chance then," she advanced. "You know
there will be an awful rush at the carriage. You'd better come now."

He complied. He found Dora and Harold in the arms of Minnie and her
mother. Both of the latter were weeping.

"I'd cry, too," Dora said, smiling sadly up at John, "but it would leave
streaks of wet powder on my face. I am to be a pale and interesting
bride. I'm sorry to leave you, brother John."

"Never mind, Sis," he said, bravely. "Everything goes in this life." She
lean