day--that wedding-day
which she had, to the very last, put off to the latest possible time.
Under the hush of evening skies, in the flower-decked garden, in the
dreamy grey air, in the sight of fallow fields glistening in the
moonlight, Rube is saying good-night.

"To bed early," was the parting injunction of Mell's future lord; "we
have a long journey before us."

"Yes," answered Mell, solemnly, "a very long journey. The journey of
life."

"However long, all too short," was Rube's fond reply. He stroked her
lovely hair. "Mell!

'May never night 'twixt me and you
With thoughts less fond arise!'"

After he was gone Mell repeated those words, "a very long journey."
Then she sighed.

It would have to be a very long journey, indeed, to correspond with
this sigh of Mell's--a very long sigh.

Well, there is no better time for a woman to sigh than the night
before she is married. Nor are tears amiss. Not one in ten knows what
she's about; for, if she did, she would not--

On the brink of the Untried there is room enough to stop and look
about one, to think better of it, to turn around and go back; only no
man or woman was ever yet gifted with brains enough to do it. The
things unknown, which loom up so temptingly into sight upon the brink
of the Untried, look far more desirable, infinitely more tempting,
than all the known blessings of the past. And so Mell sighed--but
lifted not a finger to save herself.

She went back into the little parlor to finish packing some
favorite trifles in a box to be sent to the Bigge House ere she
returned--school friend's mementoes and some of Rube's presents.

Thus engaged, outside was heard the noise of stamping hoofs and the
rumbling of wheels--some vehicle stopped at the gate--somebody came up
the sanded garden path, ascended the steps, crossed the little porch
and gave a hasty rap upon the front door.

Mell sprang to her feet. It thrilled her strangely, that footstep on
the porch, that knock upon the door.

Who could be coming there at such an hour--and the night before her
wedding?

Rube, perhaps; something he had forgotten to do or say. She would go
to the door; she started, and came back. She listened again.

It was not Rube's step--it was not Rube's knock.

Her senses were ever alert; she always noticed such things.

But the man outside had no time to lose, and did not propose to wait
there all night. He cleared his throat impati