suffered to the curiosity of imperfectly sympathetic strangers. I did
not faint, and I believe men in genuine despair never do so. But
I felt that weakness and unmanageableness of knee which comes with
strong mental anguish, and I sank back impotent upon the baron, whose
lingering legs repudiated the pressure, so that we both accumulated
miserably upon Grandstone. My eyes closed, and I did not hear the Dark
Ladye's salutations to Frau Kranich. But I awoke to see with anguish a
sight that drew involuntary applause from all that careless crowd.

It was the salute of the two brides. Imagine, if you can, two
great purple pansies, flushed with all the perfumed sap of an Eden
spring-time, threaded with diamonds of myriad-faceted dew,--imagine
them leaning forward on their elastic stems until both their soft
velvet countenances cling together and exchange mutually their
caparisons of honeyed gems; then let them sway gently back, and
balance once more in their morning splendor. Such was the effect when
these two imperial creatures approached each other and imprinted with
lips and palms a sister's salute. Mary Ashburleigh, whom the throng
recognized as a natural empress, was arrayed this morning as brides
are seldom arrayed, but with a sense of artistic obedience to her own
sumptuous nature and personality. The royal purple of her velvets
was cut, on skirt and bodice, into one continuous fretwork of heavy
scrolls and leafage, and through the crevices of this textile carving
shone the robe she carried beneath: it was tawny yellow, for she wore
under her outward dress a complete robe of ancient lace, whose cobweb
softness was more than half sacrificed--only perceived as the slashes
of her velvets made it evident. It was such dressing as queens alone
should indulge in perhaps, but Mary Ashburleigh chose for once to do
justice to her style and her magnificence.