and died in bleak New Hampshire long, long before.

The wedding was in the early morning. Old Fog had hurried it, hurried
everything; he seemed driven by a spirit of unrest, and wandered from
place to place, from room to room, his eyes fixed in a vacant way upon
the familiar objects. At the last moment he appeared with a
prayer-book, its lettering old, its cover tarnished. 'Have you any
objection to using the Episcopal service?' he asked in a low tone.
'I--I have heard the Episcopal service.'

'None in the world,' replied the affable little Preacher.

But he too grew sober and even earnest as Silver appeared, clad in
white, her dress and hair wreathed with the trailing arbutus, the
first flower of spring, plucked from under the vanishing snows. So
beautiful her face, so heavenly its expression, that Waring as he took
her hand, felt his eyes grow dim, and he vowed to himself to cherish
her with tenderest love forever.

'We are gathered together here in the sight of God,' began the
Preacher solemnly; old Fog, standing behind, shrank into the shadow,
and bowed his head upon his hands. But when the demand came, 'Who
giveth this woman to be married to this man?' he stepped forward, and
gave away his child without a tear, nay, with even a smile on his
brave old face.

'To love, cherish, and to obey,' repeated Silver in her clear sweet
voice.

And then Waring placed upon her finger the little ring he himself had