we shall need your services--. I will send you a check
for any amount you may name."

"But--"

"Whatever claim you may have upon him will be settled when he is in a
condition to settle anything; until then, my wife and I shall stay--"

Hilda went upstairs and packed her bag. So her house of dreams tumbled
about her. So she left behind her the tiara and the pearl collar with
the diamond slides, and the velvet cloak with the ermine collar. Poor
Hilda, with her head held high, going out of the shadowed house.

And taking Hilda's place, oh, more than taking her place, was Jean--and
this was her wedding day. The little rose-colored drawing room had
needed all of its rose to counteract the gray of the world outside,
with the snow and Daddy's car standing ready to take him to the station.

But always there had been the thought of Derry to uphold her, and the
wonder of their love. Nothing could rob her of that.

He had held her in his arms the night before, and had said, "Tomorrow
we shall be in Woodstock, and shall listen to the chimes--"

And now it was tomorrow, and they were here in this great grim house
with Death at the door.

Quite miraculously Emily arrived, and she and Bronson made a boudoir of
Derry's sitting-room. They filled it with flowers, as was fitting for
a bridal-bower. Jean's little trunk had been sent on to Woodstock, but
there was her bag, and a supply of things which Emily brought from home.

A new night nurse came, and Miss Martin was retained for the day. The
snow still fell, and the old man in the lacquered bed was still
unconscious, his stertorous breathing sounding through the house.

And it was her wedding day!

They dined in the great room where Derry's ancestors gazed down on
them. Emily was there, and it was a bridal feast, with things ordered
hurriedly. Bronson, too, had seen to that. But they ate little.
Emily talked and Derry ably supplemented her efforts.

But Jean was silent. It was all so different from what one might
expect--! She still wore her white dress. It was a rather superlative
frock with much cobwebby lace that had been her mother's, and in the
place of her own small string of pearls was the longer string which had
been her father's last gift to her. She had worn no veil, her crinkled
copper hair in all its beauty had been uncovered.

"I can't believe that the lovely, lovely lady at the other end of the
table is my wife," Derry told Miss Emily.

Jean