Everything was at last arranged, and Carolyn dressed the boy for his mother's wedding. The little fellow looked proud and sober in his best white suit, with a tiny bunch of Isabel's forget-me-nots for a bridal favor. He sat very still and grown up all the way to the church, built after an English model and picturesquely hidden among green hills. The beautiful chapel made a complete surprise when the carriage stopped on the country road. Madame took Reginald's tiny gloved hand and led him forward, while Isabel moved slowly after them. As all three entered the church, bells began to sound, and a man came quickly forward to say that an Episcopal clergyman and Philip Barry were both waiting at the foot of the chancel. Madame guided her charge to a stall used by choir boys now absent. Here the old French woman and the boy stood, expectant. Isabel came on alone, vaguely conscious of her way; then suddenly she felt protected—loved, for Philip had reached her side. The clergyman entered the chancel. The man and woman to be joined in wedlock heard him begin the service. His words fell distinctly, and soon Isabel and Philip listened to the solemn charge administered before marriage. "That if either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it," rang over their heads, into their souls, with momentary, questioning force. But the pause enjoined by the Church ended, and no voice had accused the apostate priest. The clergyman went on. Glad that the stern proviso was passed, Isabel faintly smiled, then glanced at Philip. He was pale. Undaunted, she put her hand in his and followed his deep responses with a clear voice. It seemed natural that he should remember the bar to their earlier happiness. Isabel moved slowly to the altar. By the side of the man she trusted she felt no fear. The sunlight of human love, the influence of home, a chance for intellectual freedom,—all these should make Philip forget a miserable, restless year. And at last the two were kneeling. Prayers and the benediction had made them one. The first test was over. Soon they were signing the parish register and could now leave the sacristy. The boy and madame were waiting. Again the bells sounded. Philip led the way to the carriage, and a moment later all were driving off together. Along the wayside early poppies lifted golden chalices to nuptial health, while a meadow lark extolled the day. All about, buzzing insects piped joy. Isabel was glad that she had selected the tiny country chapel for her marriage.

And the drive home was a pleasant one. Restraint lifted as the boy prattled and madame overflowed in French. Isabel and Philip gave out to each other without fear or confusion. Then came the gay arrival, with servants waiting, and the boy's pony and cart in readiness for a time postponed. But the mother no longer dreaded temporary parting, for now she was sure of her little son's will power. Since the confidence of early morning her heart had felt free. Throughout luncheon she planned for the boy's amusement during a month set apart for the honeymoon. There was much to be said about letters and surprises which were to arrive each day. Then when "mother dear" came back Reginald must drive her out into the country. Later the advent of kites would afford opportunity for an indulgent new father. The child was altogether satisfied. Isabel found no difficulty in slipping above for a change she had almost feared to make. When she came down dressed for traveling her son was so happy with his pony and cart that the equipage marking a bride's departure seemed to be purely incidental to the main interest of the afternoon.

With quick embraces, a farewell hand wave, Isabel and Philip were gone. The old slipper, flung by madame, hit the carriage and fell to the ground.