Still the death-bell tolled so mournfully that the sunshine seemed to
fade in the air. A whisper, communicated from those who stood nearest
the windows, now spread through the church: a hearse with a train of
several coaches was creeping along the street, conveying some dead man
to the churchyard, while the bride awaited a living one at the altar.
Immediately after, the footsteps of the bridegroom and his friends
were heard at the door. The widow looked down the aisle and clenched
the arm of one of her bridemaids in her bony hand with such
unconscious violence that the fair girl trembled.

"You frighten me, my dear madam," cried she. "For heaven's sake, what
is the matter?"

"Nothing, my dear--nothing," said the widow; then, whispering close to
her ear, "There is a foolish fancy that I cannot get rid of. I am
expecting my bridegroom to come into the church with my two first
husbands for groomsmen."

"Look! look!" screamed the bridemaid. "What is here? The funeral!"

As she spoke a dark procession paced into the church. First came an
old man and woman, like chief mourners at a funeral, attired from head
to foot in the deepest black, all but their pale features and hoary
hair, he leaning on a staff and supporting her decrepit form with his
nerveless arm. Behind appeared another and another pair, as aged, as
black and mournful as the first. As they drew near the widow
recognized in every face some trait of former friends long forgotten,
but now returning as if from their old graves to warn her to prepare a
shroud, or, with purpose almost as unwelcome, to exhibit their