I passed many hours, as the train rolled on, mile after mile,
mentally reviewing the past, looking at the present, and planning
for the future.

My year of correspondence with my wife-to-be had increased the
strength of my affection, and to its growth there seemed no end. In
a worldly way I had prospered, accumulating five thousand dollars,
while my income from my business was, so far as I could see, making
a steady and gratifying increase. My health was perfect, I had not
a care in the world, and when I arrived in Chicago Monday morning
my happiness was complete. No, not quite; but it was a few minutes
later when I arrived at the home of my bride on Michigan avenue.

I remained a guest there until Tuesday, and then visited my married
sister, who resided in a suburb of Chicago.

Wednesday was one of those glorious October days when, with a clear
sky, the temperature is low enough to make the air bracing without
being too cold. I was at the Michigan avenue home early, and after
a few minutes with Miss Wilson, walking through the rooms, admiring
the floral decorations, I was deserted, and felt myself for the
time being as rather "a fifth wheel to a coach."

The bride was in the hands of her girl friends, everybody was busy
with the final preparations, and I wandered around, wishing that
the agony was over and I had my wife to myself.

At last the hour arrived.