!

[Perhaps her watch is out of the way. But, then, on one's marriage-day,
would not one see, first of all, that one's watch was right?]

EIGHT!

[Perhaps something is the matter with her bridal array. The dress might
not have arrived in time. She may be waiting for her feathers.]

NINE!

[Not yet! Perhaps she is expecting Jack to go to her house and
accompany her here. It is very natural Jack may have agreed to do so,
and then forgotten all about it]

TEN!

[Perhaps there has been some misunderstanding about the hour, and the
widow is not expecting to come till two.]

ELEVEN!

[Perhaps she is ill. Sudden attack of vertigo, acute rheumatism, and
brain-fever, consequent upon the excitement of the occasion. The widow
prostrated! Jack saved!]

TWELVE!!!

The last toll of the bell rolled out slowly and solemnly, and its deep
tones came along the lofty church, and died away in long reverberations
down the aisles and along the galleries. Twelve! The hour had come, and
with the hour the man; but where was the woman?

Thus far Jack had been holding his face in his hands; but, as the last
tones of the bell died away, he raised himself and looked around with
some wildness in his face.

"By Jove!" said he.

"What?"

"The widow!"

"She's not here," said I.

"By Jove! Only think of it. A widow, and too late! By Jove! I can't
grapple with the idea, you know."

After this we relapsed into silence, and waited.

The people in the pews whispered more vigorously, and every little
while looked anxiously around to see if the bridal party was
approaching. Old Fletcher closed his eyes, folded his arms, and
appeared either buried in thought or in sleep--probably a little of
both. Jack sat stolidly with his legs crossed, and his hands hugging
his knee, looking straight before him at the opposite side of the
chancel, and apparently reading most diligently the Ten Commandments,
the Creed, and the Lord's Prayer, which were on the wall there. I was
in a general state of mild but ever-increasing surprise, and endeavored
to find some conceivable reason for such very curious procrastination.

So the time passed, and none of us said any thing, and the little
company of spectators grew fidgety, and Jack still stared, and I still
wondered.

At last old Fletcher turned to Jack.

"You said twelve, I think, sir," said he, mildly and benevolently.

"Twelve--did I? Well--of course; why not? Twelve, of course."

"The lady is