flutter. Moor
turned paler still, and Sylvia felt his heart beat hard against her
hand. She herself was seized with a momentary desire to run away and
say "No" again; Mark looked as if nerving himself for immediate
execution, and Jessie feebly whispered--

"Oh, Clara, I'm going to faint!"

"Good heavens, what shall I do with her? Mark, support her! My darling
girl, smell this and bear up. For mercy sake do something, Sylvia, and
don't stand there looking as if you'd been married every day for a
year."

In his excitement, Mark gave his bride a little shake. Its effect was
marvellous. She rallied instantly, with a reproachful glance at her
crumpled veil and a decided--

"Come quick, I can go now."

Down they went, through a wilderness of summer silks, black coats, and
bridal gloves. How they reached their places none of them ever knew;
Mark said afterward, that the instinct of self preservation led him to
the only means of extrication that circumstances allowed. The moment the
Bishop opened his book, Prue took out her handkerchief and cried
steadily through the entire ceremony, for dear as were the proprieties,
the "children" were dearer still.

At Sylvia's desire, Mark was married first, and as she stood listening
to the sonorous roll of the service falling from the Bishop's lips, she
tried to feel devout and solemn, but failed to do so. She tried to keep
her thoughts from wandering, but continually found herself wondering if
that sob came from Prue, if her father felt it very much, and when it
would be done. She tried to keep her eyes fixed timidly upon the carpet
as she had been told to do, but they would rise and glance about against
her will.

One of these derelictions from the path of duty, nearly produced a
catastrophe. Little Tilly, the gardener's pretty child, had strayed in
from among the servants peeping at a long window in the rear, and
established herself near the wedding group, looking like a small ballet
girl in her full white frock and wreath pushed rakishly askew on her
curly pate. As she stood regarding the scene with dignified amazement,
her eye met Sylvia's. In spite of the unusual costume, the baby knew her
playmate, and running to her, thrust her head under the veil with a
delighted "Peep a bo!" Horror seized Jessie, Mark was on the brink of a
laugh, and Moor looked like one fallen from the clouds. But Sylvia drew
the little marplot close to her with a warning word, and there she
stayed, q