The party was a brilliant one; the impressive ceremony of the Episcopal church was read, and Harry Shackleford was the husband of Emma Humphries.

The usual amount of embracing and congratulation occurred on the occasion, after which the party adjourned to the dining room, where a sumptuous supper had been prepared, and which was partaken of by the guests with many compliments to the fair bride and bridegroom, while many toasts were offered and drank, wishing long life, health and prosperity to the young couple.

The party lasted to a late hour in the night, when the guests dispersed, all present having spent their hours in gaiety and happiness.
No, not all, for apart from the throng, while the marriage ceremony was being read, was one who looked on the scene with a sad heart.

Clad in deep mourning, and holding his child, by the hand, Alfred Wentworth standing aloof from the crowd saw Emma and his friend united as man and wife with deep emotion.

It had been only a few years before, that he led his wife to the altar and the reminiscences of the present awoke, and stirred his grief, and brought back upon him, with the greatest force, his sad bereavement.