A MARRIAGE NOT "A LA MODE."

The marriage took place in a little out-of-the-way Protestant chapel
beyond the barriers, at about a quarter before ten o'clock the next
morning. Dalrymple and I were there first; and Madame de Courcelles,
having, in order to avoid observation, come part of the distance in a
cab and part on foot, arrived a few minutes later. She was very pale,
and looked almost like a _religieuse_, with her black veil tied closely
under her chin, and a dark violet dress, which might have passed for
mourning. She gave her hand to Dalrymple without speaking; then knelt
down at the communion-table, and so remained till we had all taken our
places. As for Dalrymple, he had even less color than she, but held his
head up haughtily, and betrayed no sign of the conflict within.

It was a melancholy little chapel, dusty and neglected, full of black
and white funereal tablets, and damp as a vault. We shivered as we stood
about the altar; the clergyman's teeth chattered as he began the
marriage service; and the echoes of our responses reverberated forlornly
up among the gothic rafters overhead. Even the sunbeams struggled sadly
and palely down the upper windows, and the chill wind whistled in when
the door was opened, bringing with it a moan of coming rain.

The ceremony over, the books signed in the vestry, and the clergyman,
clerk, and pew-opener duly remunerated for their services, we prepared
to be gone. For a couple of moments, Dalrymple and his bride stood apart
in the shadow of the porch. I saw him take the hand on which he had just
placed the ring, and look down upon it tenderly, wistfully--I saw him
bend lower, and lower, whispering what no other ears might hear--saw
their lips meet for one brief instant. Then the lady's veil was lowered;
she turned hastily away; and Dalrymple was left standing in the