e bit of forget-me-not
still in the little nosegay. Madge made no secret of her intention.
She opened up the nosegay on the counter of the shop; took out the piece
of forget-me-not; put it in the folded sheet of paper; and then
carefully--but with fingers no longer trembling--closed the envelope.
When they had come out again, and gone and posted the letter, they found
themselves at a standstill.

'Now I know you would like a longer walk, Nan,' said the younger sister,
'and I am sure you won't mind if I go back at once. I do so want to
write a long letter to Mary. And I haven't told Edith yet, you know.'

To this also Nan consented; and so Madge departed. Nan, left to
herself, looked for a moment or two, somewhat wistfully, at the far
breadths of the shining water; and then turned and walked slowly and
thoughtfully along one of the wider thoroughfares leading up from the
sea. The world seemed too bright and eager and busy out here; she
wished to be alone, and in the dusk; and in this thoroughfare there was
a church, spacious and gloomy, that was kept open all the week round.
Half unconsciously to herself she walked in that direction. So absorbed
was she that, when she reached the entrance, she scarcely perceived that
there were some persons standing about. From the clear light of the sun
she passed into a long covered way that was almost dark; there was a low
sound of music issuing from the building; it was a refuge she was
seeking; and she vaguely hoped that there would be few people within.

But just as she gained the entrance proper, and was about to enter the
dark and dusky place before her, behold! here was a great smiling throng
coming along the aisle, headed by a bridegroom and a white-clothed
bride. The music that was gaily pealing through the building was the
'Wedding March' that no familiarity robs of its majestic swing and
melody. Nan had suddenly a sort of guilty self-consciousness. She felt
she had no business even to look on at bridal processions. She passed
in by another door into that space of dark and empty pews; and very soon
the bridal people were all gone from the place, and apparently no one
was left but the white-surpliced performers at the organ in the choir.

That choir was a beautiful thing away beyond the dusk. The sunlight
entering by the stained-glass windows filled it with a softly golden
glory; so that the splendours of the altar, and the tall brass
candlesticks, and the seven