together in the hall by the spiral
staircase, which was wound with flowers and vines. Henry wore a
dress-suit for the first time in his life. Meeks wore an ancient one,
in which he moved gingerly. "I believe I weigh fifty pounds more than
I did when the blamed thing was made," he said to Henry, "and the
broadcloth is as thin as paper. I'm afraid to move."

Henry looked very sober. "What's the matter, Henry?" asked Sidney.

"It's Sylvia."

"Sylvia? I thought--"

"Yes, I thought, too, that she had got what was on her mind off it,
but she hasn't. I don't know what ails her. She ain't herself. I'm
worried to death about her."

Then the wedding-march was played and the bridal party came down the
stairs. Rose was on the arm of the lawyer who had acted as her
trustee. He was to give her away. The task had been an impossible one
for Henry to undertake, although he had been the first one thought of
by Rose. Henry had told Meeks, and the two had chuckled together over
it. "The idea of a man from a shoe-shop giving away a bride in real
lace at a swell wedding," said Henry.

"She was the right sort to ask you, though," said Meeks.

"Bless her little heart," said Henry, "she wouldn't care if Uncle
Henry smelled strong enough of leather to choke out the smell of the
flowers. But I ain't going to make a spectacle of myself at my time
of life. If I stand that dress-suit I shall do well. Sylvia is going
to wear black lace with a tail to it. I know somebody will step on
it."

Sylvia, in her black lace, came down the stairs in the wake of the
bridal party. She did not seem to see her husband as she passed him.

"By Jove!" said the lawyer, in a whisper. "What does ail her, Henry?
She looks as if she was going to jump at something."

Henry did not answer. He made his way as quickly as possible after
Sylvia, and Sidney kept with him.

Horace and Rose, in her bridal white, stood before the clergyman. The
music had ceased. The clergyman opened his mouth to begin the
wedding-service, when Sylvia interrupted him. She pushed herself like
a wedge of spiritual intent past the bridal pair and the bridesmaids
and best man, and stood beside the clergyman. He was a small, blond
man, naturally nervous, and he fairly trembled when Sylvia put her
hand on his arm and spoke.

"I have something to say," said she, in a thin, strained voice. "You
wait."

The clergyman looked aghast at her. People pressed forward, craning
their necks to hear