The door of the lady's room stood ajar, as he had left it, and in answer to his "tapping at the chamber-door," a sweet feminine voice called "come in." Ormiston promptly obeyed, and the next instant they were in the room, and in the presence of the dead bride.

Certainly she did not look dead, but very much alive, just then, as she sat in an easy-chair, drawn up before the dressing-table, on which stood the solitary lamp that illumed the chamber.

In one hand she held a small mirror, or, as it was then called, a "sprunking-glass," in which she was contemplating her own beauty, with as much satisfaction as any other pretty girl might justly do.

She had changed her drenched dress during Ormiston's absence, and now sat arrayed in a swelling amplitude of rose-colored satin, her dark hair clasped and bound by a circle of milk-white pearls, and her pale, beautiful face looking ten degrees more beautiful than ever, in contrast with the bright rose-silk, shining dark hair, and rich white jewels.

She rose up as they entered, and came forward with the same glow on her face and the same light in her eyes that one of them had seen before, and stood with drooping eyelashes, lovely as a vision in the centre of the room.
"You see I have lost no time in obeying your ladyship's commands," began Ormiston, bowing low.