one pier. Michael stepped ashore and made fast a couple of ropes.
Then he gave his hand to Miss Clarence and helped her to disembark.

"If you're thinking of taking a walk through the island, Miss," he said,
"you'll have time enough. There's no hurry in the world about starting
home. Two hours or three will be all the same to us."

Michael Kane was in no hurry. Nor was Peter Gahan, who had taken a
pamphlet from his pocket and settled himself on the edge of the pier
with his feet dangling over the water. But Miss Clarence felt that she
had not a moment to lose. She did not want to miss a single detail of
the wedding festivities. She stood for an instant uncertain whether she
should go first to the yellow, slated house of the bridegroom or cross
the field before her to the double-gabled cottage where the bride lived.
She decided to go to the cottage. In any ordinary wedding the bride's
house is the scene of most activity, and no doubt the same rule holds
good in the case of royal marriages.

The door of the cottage stood open, and Miss Clarence stepped into
a tiny shop. It was the smallest shop she had ever seen, but it was
crammed from ceiling to floor with goods.

Behind the counter a woman of about thirty years of age sat on a low
stool. She was knitting quietly, and showed no sign whatever of the
excitement which usually fills a house on the day of a wedding. She
looked up when Miss Clarence entered the shop. Then she rose and
laid aside her knitting. She had clear, grey eyes, an unemotional,
self-confident face, and a lean figure.

"I came to see Miss Mary Nally," said Miss Clarence. "Perhaps if she
isn't too busy I could have a chat with her."

"Mary Nally's my name," said the young woman quietly.

Miss Clarence was surprised at the calm and self-possession of the woman
before her. She had, in the early days of her career as a journalist,
seen many brides. She had never seen one quite so cool as Mary Nally.
And this woman was going to marry a king! Miss Clarence, startled out of
her own self-control, blurted out more than she meant to say.

"But--but aren't you going to be married?" she said.

Mary Nally smiled without a sign of embarrassment.

"Maybe I am," she said, "some day."

"To-day," said Miss Clarence.

Mary Nally, pulling aside a curtain of pendent shirts, looked out
through the window of the little shop. She knew that the post boat had
arrived at the pier and that her visitor, a stranger on th