signed to the wedding but
deplored the necessity of being absent.

"I know something will go wrong," she said to Kenneth; "do be careful
and make sure that you are really married, Ken! They are so sloppy in
the South, and it would be quite like Doris Fletcher, if she couldn't
get that candlestick preacher of hers, to let Dave Martin or any one
else read the service. Doris never could put the emphasis of life where
it belonged."

Kenneth laughed merrily.

"Nancy and I will see to it, Aunt Emily," he replied, "that we are tied
up close. Just use your time, until I bring her back, in thinking of the
good days on ahead--when we'll have her always, you and I."

Mrs. Tweksbury relaxed.

"She's a blessed child, Ken. She always was."

Raymond arrived late one May afternoon. Joan was dressing for dinner,
dressing slowly, tremblingly--she did not mean to go downstairs until
dinner was served if she could avoid it.

She had worked late, worked until she was weary enough to plead an
hour's rest, and now she stood by the window overlooking The Gap.

"I've got the world in my grip," she thought, "but the whirl makes me
dizzy."

Silver River was rushing along rather noisily--there had been a big
storm the night before and the water had not yet calmed down; the rocks
shone in the last rays of the sun, and just then Joan looked up at The
Rock!

There it was--The Ship! Sails set and the western light full upon it.

For a moment Joan gazed, trying to remember the old superstition. Then
her face grew tender.

"Whatever happens," she murmured, "it shall not happen to Nancy. I've
spoiled enough of her plays--she shall not be hurt now."

The thought held all the essentials of a prayer and it gave an uplift.

Then Joan turned to her toilet. Recalling Patricia's theory about the
artistic helps to one's appearance, she worked fervently with her slim
little body and delicate face.

A bit of fluffing and the lovely hair rose like an aura about the
smiling face. The eyes did not seem too large when one smiled--so Joan
practised a smile! The gowns, one by one, were laid out upon the bed and
regarded religiously; finally, one was chosen that Patricia had loved.

"My lamb," Joan recalled the words and look, "a true artist knows her
high marks. This gown is a revealment of my genius."

It was a pale blue crepe, silver-touched and graceful; a long, heavy,
silver cord held it at the waistline, and the loose, lacy sleeves made
the sl