degree were to tread
the wedding march with him. Dancing and feasting, gay company and rich
presents, were to add glory to some fair girl wife, whom he would
choose because, of all others, she was the loveliest; and the
wealthiest, and the most to be desired.

And then his eyes fell upon the girl at his feet, in her plain dark
dress crushed and disordered with a night's travel; the bare, empty
chapel; the utter want of music, flowers, company, or social support
of any kind; the small, rigid-looking preacher without surplice or
insignia of holy office; the half-expressed disapproval on the
countenances of the three women present as witnesses--it was not thus
Elizabeth was married; it was not thus he himself ought to have been
married. How the surroundings might affect Denas he did not even
think; and yet the poor girl also had had her dreams, which this cold,
dreary reality in no measure redeemed.

But the ring was on her finger; she was Roland's wife. Nothing could
ever make her less. She heard the preacher say: "Come into the vestry,
Mrs. Tresham, and sign the register." And then Roland gave her his arm
and kissed her, and she went with the little company, and took the pen
from her husband's hand, and wrote boldly for the last time her
maiden name:

"Denasia Penelles."

Roland looked inquiringly at her, and she smiled and answered: "That
is right, dear. I was christened Denasia."

Very small things pleased Roland, and the new name delighted him. All
the way to London he spoke frequently of it. "You are now Denasia, my
darling," he said. "Let the old name slip with the old life. Besides,
Denasia is an excellent public name. You can sing under it splendidly.
Such a noble name! Why did you let everyone spoil it?"

"Everyone thought Denas was my name. Father and mother always called
me Denas, and people forgot that it was only part of my name.
Fisher-folk have short names, or nicknames."

"But, really, Denasia Penelles is a very distinguished name. A
splendid one for the public."

"Why not Denasia Tresham?"

"Because, my dear, there are Treshams living in London who would be
very angry at me if I put their name on a bill-board. The Treshams are
a very proud family."

"Roland, it would kill my father if I put his name on anything that
refers to a theatre. You don't know how he feels on that subject. It
is a thing of life and death--I mean the soul's life or death--to
him."

A painful discussion, in which bo