"I remember that occasion very vividly, for in opposition to my
judgment I performed the ceremony; but Minnie Merle was a
low-statured, dark-haired child----" again he paused, and keenly
scanned the tall, slender, elegant figure, and the crimped waves of
shining hair that lay like a tangled mass of gold net on the low,
full, white brow.

"I was Minnie Merle. Your words of benediction made me Minnie
Laurance. God--and the angels know it is my name, my lawful name,--
but man denies it."

Something like a sob impeded her utterance, and the minister took her
hand.

"Where is your husband? Are you widowed so early?"

"Husband--my husband? One to cherish and protect, to watch over, and
love, and defend me;--if such be the duties and the tests of a
husband,--oh! then indeed I have never had one! Widowed did you say?
That means something holy,--sanctified by the shadow of death, and
the yearning sympathy and pity of the world; a widow has the right to
hug a coffin and a grave all the weary days of her lonely life, and
people look tenderly on her sacred weeds. To me, widowhood would be
indeed a blessing, Sir, I thought I had learned composure,
self-control, but the sight of this room,--of your countenance,--even
the strong breath of the violets and heliotrope there on the mantle,
in the same blood-coloured Bohemian vase where they bloomed that
day,--that May day,--all these bring back so overpoweringly the time
that is for ever dead to me,--that I feel as if I should suffocate."