onfused and
unreal as that of a dream in which logical events go mad. Through many
faces, which at the moment seemed to be floating against black and
leering at her, she had the sense of moving without the action of her
muscles.... She saw the lion-like mane of her father's head and the
ecstasy of his eyes and a voice in her but not of her whispered: "Well,
I hope you're satisfied."... She was conscious of the heavy scent of
flowers which reminded her of a funeral.... One face stood out distinct
and seemed to be boring into her, reading secrets which, she felt
through a great dizziness, she ought not to let him fathom. It was the
face of Dr. Ebbett.... Then she heard a voice which sounded to her
unduly loud saying: "I do," and realized that it was her own. Later she
was reliably informed that she had appeared splendidly collected and
regally happy. This blurred focus of realization left her only when she
found herself in her own room and heard Mary Barrascale's voice
speaking.

"I've never seen a bride who was lovelier, or a groom who was happier,"
announced Mary exuberantly as she began lifting the white veil from the
dark hair. Then she added in afterthought:

"Oh, by the way, I guess this is a message of congratulation or
something. One of the servants handed it to me a few minutes ago." She
drew from the bosom of her gown an envelope bearing the imprint of a
cable office.

As Conscience took the missive a sudden intuition hinted the contents
and the waxy white of her cheeks became a dead pallor. Very slowly she
tore the envelope and read Stuart's message frantically penned in Cairo
on the way to the Alexandria train.

"Received no note from you. Wrote to you that night begging a
chance. Horrible mistake has occurred. Matter of life and death and
thousand times more than that, that you take no step till I see
you. Am sailing by first boat. Wait. Stuart."

The bride's heart stopped dead, then pounded madly. Stuart had received
no note from her! Then he had not abandoned her. He still loved her and
from that instant, whenever she told herself she did not love him, she
must lie. Now she was Tollman's wife. It had almost come in time.
Perhaps it _had_ come in time.

Conscience turned to the bridesmaid with a queer and unnatural ring in
her voice.

"Mary," she asked, "just exactly when did this message arrive?"

"It must have been immediately before the ceremony," the girl answered
wit