where he tarried.

With Lady Horton and Diana she took her way to Saint Mary's Church at
noon, and there she found Mr. Wilding--very fine in a suit of sky-blue
satin, laced with silver--awaiting her. And with him was old Lord
Gervase Scoresby, his friend and cousin, the very incarnation of
benignity and ruddy health.

For a wonder Nick Trenchard was not at Mr. Wilding's side. But Nick
had definitely refused to be of the party, emphasizing his refusal by
certain choice reflections wholly unflattering to the married state.

Some idlers of the town were the only witnesses--and little did they
guess the extent of the tragedy they were witnessing. There was no
music, and the ceremony was brief and soon at an end. The only touch of
joy, of festiveness, was that afforded by the choice blooms with which
Mr. Wilding had smothered nave and choir and altar-rails. Their perfume
hung heavy as incense in the temple.

"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" droned the parson's
voice, and Wilding smiled defiantly a smile which seemed to answer him,
"No man. I have taken her for myself."

Lord Gervase stood forward as her sponsor, and as in a dream Ruth felt
her hand lying in Mr. Wilding's cool, firm grasp.

The ecclesiastic's voice droned on, his voice hanging like the hum of
some great Insect upon the scented air. It was accomplished, and they
were welded each to the other until death should part them.

Down the festooned nave she came on his arm, her step unfaltering,
her face calm; black misery in her heart. Behind followed her aunt and
cousin and Lord Gervase. On Mr. Wilding's aquiline face a pale smile
glimmered, like a beam of moonlight upon tranquil waters, and it abode
there until they reached the porch and were suddenly confronted by Nick
Trenchard, red of face for once, perspiring, excited, and dust-stained
from head to foot.

He had arrived that very instant; and, urged by the fearful news that
brought him, he had come resolved to pluck Wilding from the altar be the
ceremony done or not. But in that he reckoned without Mr. Wilding--for
he should have known him better than to have hoped to succeed. He
stepped forward now, and gripped him with his dusty glove by the
sleeve of his shimmering bridegroom's coat. His voice came harsh with
excitement and smouldering rage.

"A word with you, Anthony!"

Mr. Wilding turned placidly to regard him. "What now?" he asked, his
bride's hand retained in the crook of