and chatted as wittily as ever. In time, Anna partook of his
mood and laughed back. She felt as if a weight had been lifted off her
mind. At last they stopped at a little station called Whiteford. An
old-fashioned carriage was waiting for them; they entered it and the
driver, whipped up his horses. A drive of a half mile brought them to
an ideal white cottage surrounded by porches and hidden in a tangle of
vines. The door was opened for them by the Rev. John Langdon in person.
He seemed a preternaturally grave young man to Anna and his clerical
attire was above reproach. Any misgivings one might have had regarding
him on the score of his youth, were more than counterbalanced by his
almost supernatural gravity.

He apologized for the absence of his wife, saying she had been called
away suddenly, owing to the illness of her mother. His housekeeper and
gardener would act as witnesses. Sanderson hastily took Anna to one
side and said: "I forgot to tell you, darling, that I am going to be
married by my two first names only, George Lennox. It is just the
same, but if the Sanderson got into any of those country marriage
license papers, I should be afraid the governor would hear of
it--penalty of having a great name, you know," he concluded gayly.
"Thought I had better mention it, as it would not do to have you
surprised over your husband's name."

Again the feeling of dread completely over-powered her. She looked at
him with her great sorrowful eyes, as a trapped animal will sometimes
look at its captor, but she could not speak. Some terrible blight
seemed to have overgrown her brain, depriving her of speech and
willpower.

The witnesses entered. Anna was too agitated to notice that the Rev.
John Langdon's housekeeper was a very singular looking young woman for
her position. Her hair was conspicuously dark at the roots and
conspicuously light on the ends. Her face was hard and when she smiled
her mouth, assumed a wolfish expression. She was loudly dressed and
wore a profusion of jewelry--altogether a most remarkable looking woman
for the place she occupied.

The gardener had the appearance of having been suddenly wakened before
nature had had her full quota of sleep. He was blear-eyed and his
breath was more redolent of liquor than one might have expected in the
gardener of a parsonage.

The room in which the ceremony was to take place was the ordinary
cottage parlor, with crochet work on the chairs, an