the center
aisle of the church toward the altar. The light was so brilliant that
I could distinguish each one of the figures. They were all in strange
old-time costumes; the ladies in brocades and satins with strings of
pearls in their powdered hair, the gentlemen in uniform with knee
breeches, swords, and cocked hats held under their arms. But it was
the bride who drew my attention most strongly. She was clothed in
white satin, and a faded myrtle wreath was twisted through the
powdered locks beneath her sweeping veil. The bridegroom at her side
wore a red uniform and many decorations. Slowly they approached the
altar, where an old man in black vestments and a heavy white wig was
awaiting them. They stood before him, and I could see that he was
reading the ritual from a gold-lettered book.

One of the train stepped forward and unbuckled the bridegroom's sword,
that his right hand might be free to take that of the bride. She
seemed about to raise her own hand to his, when she suddenly sank
fainting at his feet. The guests hurried toward the altar, the lights
went out, the music stopped, and the figures floated together like
pale white mists.

But outside in the square it was still brighter than before, and I
suddenly saw the side portal of the church burst open and the wedding
procession move out across the market place.

I turned as if to flee, but could not move a muscle. Quiet, as if
turned to stone, I stood and watched the ghostly figures that came
nearer and nearer. The clergyman led the train, then came the
bridegroom and the bride, and as the latter raised her eyes to me I
saw that it was the young girl of the garden. Her eyes were so full of
pain, so full of sad entreaty that I could scarce endure them; but how
shall I explain the feeling that shot through me as I suddenly
discovered that the right sleeve of her white satin gown hung empty at
her side? The train disappeared, and the tone of the church bells
changed to a strange, dry, creaking sound, and the gate below me
complained as it turned on its rusty hinges. I faced toward my own
door. I knew that it was shut and locked, but I knew that the ghostly
procession were coming to call me to account, and I felt that no walls
could keep them out. My door flew open, there was a rustling as of
silken gowns, but the figures seemed to float in in the changing forms
of swaying white mists. Closer and closer they gathered around me,
robbing me of breath, robbing me