"You will pardon our errand," exclaimed the stranger who had already
spoken, "but we are here to enlist your services. Can you perform a
wedding ceremony in the old chapel across the way? Our time is limited.
We are in all haste to catch a train, and wish the marriage to take
place with the least possible delay."

"Certainly, certainly, sir," returned the good man. "I am always pleased
to join two souls in holy matrimony. Step in; the lady must be
thoroughly chilled. This is a dreadful night."

"We prefer to make our way directly over to the chapel," remarked the
man who had spoken up to this point. "The lady is warm, having but just
left the carriage, a few steps beyond."

"As you will," responded the pastor. Turning to the old sexton, he said,
quietly: "Will you step over to the church, Adam, brush the snow from
the steps and light the lamps about the altar?"

Adam hastened to carry out his commands. He had scarcely completed his
task when the bridal party entered, preceded by the pastor.

Adam watched them curiously as they filed down the aisle, both men still
supporting the slender figure quite until the altar was reached.

The Rev. Dr. Warner, shivering with the severe cold of the place, picked
up his book quickly.

"Which is the bridegroom?" he asked, looking from one muffled figure to
the other. The man toward the left of the girl dropped back a pace or
two, silently waving his hand toward his friend.

The old minister had never heard the names of the contracting parties
before, and the idle thought for an instant found lodgment in his mind
whether or no they could be fictitious. Then he blamed himself roundly
for his momentary suspicion, and went on hurriedly with the ceremony.

The man answered in a low, guarded voice. There was a tone in it which
somehow jarred on the good minister's sensitive nerves. The girl's voice
was pitifully fluttering, almost hysterical.

But that was not an uncommon occurrence. Few brides are calm and
self-possessed.

"You will please lift your veil for the final benediction," said the
aged pastor, pausing, book in hand, and gazing at the slim, silent,
dark-robed figure, who had made her responses faintly, gaspingly, almost
inaudibly. Again it was the stranger to the left who complied with his
request, but for one instant both the clergyman and the old sexton
caught sight of a face white as death, yet beautiful as an angel's,
framed in a mass of dead-gold hair; but the fli