silent,
purgatorial moments that are approached with senses steeled and thought
held in a vice. To the others it passed, as if it had happened in a
dream. Even when Kemp stooped and pressed his lips for the first time
upon his wife's, the real meaning of what had taken place seemed far
away to Ruth; the present held but one thing in prominence,--the pale
face upon the pillow. She felt her mother's arms around her; she knew
that Louis had raised her hand to his lips, that she had drawn his head
down and kissed him, that Dr. Kemp was standing silently beside her,
that the minister had spoken some gravely pleasant words; but all the
while she wanted to tear herself away from it all and fold that eager,
loving, dying face close to hers. She was allowed to do so finally; and
when she was drawn into the outstretched arms, there was only the long
silence of love.

Kemp had left the room with Dr. Stephens, having a further favor to
intrust to him. The short announcement of this marriage, which Dr.
Stephens gave for insertion in the evening papers, created a world of
talk.

When Kemp re-entered, Levice called him to him, holding out his hand.
The doctor grasped it in that firm clasp which was always a tonic.

"Will you kneel?" asked Levice; Kemp knelt beside his wife, and the old
father blessed them in the words that held a double solemnity now:--

"'The Lord bless thee and keep thee.

"'The Lord make his face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee.

"'The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee and give thee peace.'"

"I think if you don't mind, dear, I shall close my eyes now," he said as
they arose.

Ruth moved about, closing the blinds.

"Don't close out all the sun," said her father; "I like it,--it is an
old friend. After all, I don't think I'll sleep; let me lie here and
look at you all awhile. Louis, my boy, must you go?"

"Oh, no," he replied, turning back from the door and gliding into a
chair.

"Thank you; and now don't think of me. Go on talking; it will be a
foretaste of something better to lie here and listen. Esther, are you
cold? I felt a shudder go through your hand, love. Ruth, give your
mother a shawl; don't forget that sometimes some one should see that
your mother is not cold. Just talk, will you?"

So they talked,--that is, the men did. Their grave, deep voices and
the heavily breathing of the invalid were the only sounds in the room.
Finally, as the twilight stole in, it was quite stil