The room in which the ceremony was to take place was the ordinary
cottage parlor, with crochet work on the chairs, and a profusion of
vases and bric-a-brac on the tables. The Rev. John Langdon requested
Anna and Sanderson to stand by a little marble table from which the
housekeeper brushed a profusion of knick-knacks. There was no Bible.
Anna was the first to notice the omission. This seemed to deprive the
young clergyman of his dignity. He looked confused, blushed, and
turning to the housekeeper told her to fetch the Bible. This seemed to
appeal to the housekeeper's sense of humor. She burst out laughing and
said something about looking for a needle in a haystack. Sanderson
turned on her furiously, and she left the room, looking sour, and
muttering indignantly. She returned, after what seemed an interminable
space of time, and the ceremony proceeded.

Anna did not recognize her own voice as she answered the responses.
Sanderson's was clear and ringing; his tones never faltered. When the
time came to put the ring on her finger, Anna's hand trembled so
violently that the ring fell to the floor and rolled away. Sanderson's
face turned pale. It seemed to him like a providential dispensation.
For some minutes, the assembled company joined in the hunt for the
ring. It was found at length by the yellow-haired housekeeper, who
returned it with her most wolfish grin.

"Trust Bertha Harris to find things!" said the clergyman.

The ceremony proceeded without further incident. The final words were
pronounced and Anna sank into a chair, relieved that it was over,
whether it was for better or for worse.

Sanderson hurried her into the carriage before the clergyman and the