and he was my husband. And I read--feeling nothing.
Then I read again, and the world, my world, went from under my feet;
for the man who had fallen dead in the camp at Nome was Wallace,
William's brother, and not William himself. William had been left
behind on the road by his more energetic brother, who had pushed
on for succor through the worst storm and under the worst conditions
possible even in that God-forsaken region. With the lost one in
mind, the one word that Wallace uttered in sight of rescue, was
William. A hope was expressed of finding the latter alive and a
party had started out--Did I read more? I do not think so.
Perhaps there was no more to read; here was where the paper was
torn across. But it was no matter. I had seen enough. It was
Wallace who had fallen dead, and while William might have perished
also, and doubtless had, I had no certainty of it. And my wedding
day was set for Thursday.

"Why didn't I tell Cora; why didn't I tell you? Pride held my tongue;
besides, I had had time to think before I saw either of you, and to
reason a bit and to feel sure that if Wallace had been spent enough
to fall dead on reaching the camp, William could never have survived
on the open road. For Wallace was the stronger of the two and the
most hardy every way. Free I certainly was. Some later paper would
assure me of this. I would hunt them up and see--but I never did.
I do not think I dared. I was afraid I should see some account of
his rescue. I was afraid of being made certain of what was now but
a possibility, and so I did nothing. But for three nights I did not
sleep.

"The caprice which had led me to choose the old Moore house to be
married in led me to plan dressing there on my wedding morning. It
was early when we started, Cora and I, for Waverley Avenue, but not
too early for the approaches to that dreadful house to be crowded
with people, eager to see the daring bride. Why I should have
shrunk so from that crowd I can not say. I trembled at sight of
their faces and at the sound of their voices, and if by chance a
head was thrust forward farther than the rest I cowered back
instinctively and nearly screamed. Did I dread to recognize a too
familiar face? The paper I had seen bore a date six months back.
A man could arrive here from Alaska in that time. Or was my
conscience aroused at last and clamoring to be heard when it was
too late? On the corner of N Street the carriage suddenly