yesterday, and none could tell her where he tarried.

With Lady Horton and Diana she took her way to Saint Mary's Church at
noon, and there she found Mr. Wilding - very fine in a suit of sky-blue
satin, laced with silver - awaiting her. And with him was old Lord
Gervase Scoresby, his friend and cousin, the very incarnation of
benignity and ruddy health.

For a wonder Nick Trenchard was not at Mr. Wilding's side. But Nick
had definitely refused to be of the party, emphasizing his refusal
by certain choice reflections wholly unflattering to the married
state.

Some idlers of the town were the only witnesses - and little did they
guess the extent of the tragedy they were witnessing. There was no
music, and the ceremony was brief and soon at an end. The only
touch of joy, of festiveness, was that afforded by the choice blooms
with which Mr. Wilding had smothered nave and choir and altar-rails.
Their perfume hung heavy as incense in the temple.

"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" droned the parson's
voice, and Wilding smiled defiantly a smile which seemed to answer him,
"No man. I have taken her for myself."

Lord Gervase stood forward as her sponsor, and as in a dream Ruth felt
her hand lying in Mr. Wilding's cool, firm grasp.

The ecclesiastic's voice droned on, his voice hanging like the hum of
some great Insect upon the scented air. It was accomplished, and they
were welded each to the other until death should part them.