It was plain, simple, yet, in its way, a work of art--a rich white silk with little lace or trimming, yet looking so like a wedding-dress that no one could mistake it.

There were snowy gloves and shoes--in fact everything was perfect, selected by no common taste, the gift of no illiberal hand.

Was it foolish of her to kiss the white folds while the tears filled her eyes, and to think of herself that she was the happiest creature under the sun?
Was it foolish of her to touch the pretty bridal robes with soft, caressing fingers, as though they were some living thing that she loved--to place them where the sunbeams fell on them, to admire them in every different fold and arrangement?
Then the eventful day came--Lord Arleigh and Madaline were to be married at an early hour.
"Not," said Lord Arleigh, proudly, "that there is any need for concealment--why should there be ?--but you see, Lady Peters if it were known that it was my wedding-day, I have so many friends, so many relatives, that privacy would be impossible for us; therefore the world has not been enlightened as to when I intended to claim my darling for my own." "It is a strange marriage for an Arleigh," observed Lady Peters--"the first of its kind, I am sure.

But I think you are right--your plan is wise." All the outward show made at the wedding consisted in the rapid driving of a carriage from the hotel to the church--a carriage containing two ladies--one young, fair, charming as a spring morning, the other older, graver, and more sedate.
The young girl was fair and sweet, her golden hair shining through the marriage vail, her blue eyes wet with unshed tears, her face flushed with daintiest rose-leaf bloom.
It was a pleasant spectacle to see the dark, handsome face of her lover as he greeted her, the love that shone in his eyes, the pride of his manner, as though he would place her before the whole world, and defy it to produce one so graceful or so fair.

Lady Peters' face softened and her heart beat as she walked up to the altar with them.