once into perfect womanhood. 

She wanted to say so many things to him, but no words would come. She just gave him her hand, and his fingers closed hard about it. 

For a little they sat without speaking, while through the open doors of the cathedral came the wonderful strains of the organ. Then suddenly it ceased, and Chris took his hand away as if the spell that had been laid upon them was broken. 

He rose to his feet, looking a little abashed. 

"Well, then—we can tell Aunt Madge that we're engaged?" he said. 

12 "Yes." 

12

But even then she could not believe it She dreaded lest with every moment she would wake and find it all a dream. 

But it was still a reality when they got back home, and Aunt Madge pretended to be surprised, and cried and kissed them both, and said she had never been so glad about anything. 

She wanted them to have a glass of wine to celebrate the occasion, though, as a rule, she was a staunch teetotaler, but Chris said no, he could not stay—he had an appointment. He went off in a great hurry, hardly saying good-night, and promising to be round early in the morning. 

At the doorway he stopped and looked back at the two women. 

"I'll—er—you must have a ring, Marie Celeste," he said. "I'll— er—I'll tell them to send some round," and he was gone. 

It was a strange wooing altogether, but to Marie there was nothing amiss. She was in the seventh heaven of happiness. When she went to bed she looked out at the starry sky, and wished she were clever enough to write a poem about this most wonderful of nights. 

She saw nothing wrong with the days that followed either. To be awkwardly kissed by Chris—even on the cheek—was a delirious happiness; to wear his ring, joy unspeakable; to be out and about with him, all that she asked of life. 

The wedding was to be soon. There was nothing to wait for, so Chris and Aunt Madge agreed. They also agreed that it must of necessity be quiet, owing to their mourning. Marie Celeste agreed to 

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