Every thought and feeling was now merged in intense interest and curiosity regarding the participants in the strange union, which was being consummated before them. Who was the beautiful bride, so perfect in form, so graceful in bearing, so elegantly and richly adorned?

Who the strange groom?

The parts of the plotting lovers of the play had hitherto been taken by the brother and sister—Walter and Alice Kerby, who were well-known in society.

But of course every one reasoned that they could not both officiate as principals in the scene now being enacted before them.

The figure and bearing of that veiled bride upon the stage were similar to that of Miss Kerby; but that young lady was known to be engaged to a young lawyer who was now seated with the audience; therefore, no one, who knew her, believed for a moment that she could be personating the masked bride now standing before the altar, while the groom beside her was neither so stout nor as tall as Walter Kerby.

The ceremony proceeded, according to the Episcopal form, although the young minister was known to be a Universalist, and when he reached the charge, calling for any one "who could show just cause why the two before him should not be joined in lawful wedlock, to speak or forever hold his peace," those sitting nearest the stage were startled to see the bride shiver, from head to foot, while a deadly pallor seemed to settle over that portion of her face that was visible, and to even extend over her neck.

The service went on without any interruption, the groom making the responses in clear, unfaltering tones, although those of his companion were scarcely audible. When the symbol of their union was called for, it was also noticed that Edith shrank from having the ring placed upon her finger, but it was only a momentary hesitation, and the service was soon completed with all due solemnity.

After the blessing, when the couple arose from their knees, the maid of honor stepped forward, and, lifting the mask of the bride, adjusted it above her forehead with the jeweled pin, while the audience sat spell-bound, awaiting with breathless suspense the revelation that would ensue.

At the same moment the groom also removed the covering from his face, when those who could see him instantly recognized him as Emil Correlli, the handsome and wealthy brother of the hostess of the evening.

His countenance was white to ghastliness, betraying that he was laboring under great excitement and mental strain.

But the fair young bride! who was she?

Not one in that great company recognized her for the moment, for scarcely any one had ever seen her before—excepting those, of course, who had been guests in the house during the week, and these failed to identify her in the exquisite costume which was so different from the simple black dresses which she had always worn, and enveloped, as she was, in that voluminous, mist-like veil.

The clergyman omitted nothing, and immediately, upon the lifting of the masks, greeted and congratulated the young couple with every appearance of cordiality and sincerity.

To poor, reluctant Edith the whole affair had been utterly distasteful and repulsive.

Indeed, she had felt as if she was almost guilty of a crime in allowing herself to participate lightly in anything of so sacred a nature, and, throughout the entire ceremony, she had shivered and trembled with mingled nervousness and repugnance.

When the ring—an unusually massive circlet of gold—had been slipped upon her finger, she had involuntarily tried to withdraw her hand from the clasp of the man who was holding it, a sensation of deadly faintness almost overpowering her for the moment.

But feeling that she must not fail madam and spoil everything at this last moment, she braced herself to go on with the farce (?) to the end.

She was so relieved when it was ended, so eager to get away from the place and have the dread ordeal over, that she scarcely heard a word the clergyman uttered while congratulating her. She was dimly conscious of the clasp of his hand and the sound of his voice, but did not even notice the hated name by which he addressed her.

Neither had she once glanced at the groom, though as he took her hand and laid it upon his arm, when they turned to go out, she wondered vaguely why he should continue to hold it clasped in his, and what made his clinging fingers tremble so.

But Emil Correlli, now that his scheme was accomplished, led her, with an air of mingled triumph and joy which sat well upon him, directly out to the ladies' dressing-room, where they found madam alone awaiting them.

She could not have been whiter if she had been dead, and her teeth were actually chattering with nervousness as the two came toward her, Edith still with bowed head and downcast eyes—her brother beaming with the exultation he could not conceal.

But she braced herself to meet them with a brave front.

"Dear child, you went through it beautifully," she said, in a caressing voice as she took Edith into her arms and kissed her upon the forehead. "Let me thank and congratulate you—and you also, Emil."

At the sound of this name, Edith uttered a cry of dismay and turned her glance, for the first time, upon the man at her side.

"You!" she gasped, starting away from him with a gesture of horror, and marble could not have been whiter, nor a statue more frozen than she for a moment after making this amazing discovery.

"Hush!" imperatively exclaimed Mrs. Goddard, who quickly arose to the emergency. "Do not make a scene. It could not be helped—some one had to take Mr. Kerby's place, and Emil, arriving at the last moment, was pressed into the service the same as yourself."

"How could you? It was cruel! it was wicked! I never would have consented had I suspected," cried the girl, in a voice resonant with indignation.

"Hush!" again commanded madam, "you must not—you shall not spoil everything now. The actors are all to hold an informal reception in the parlors while this room is being cleared for dancing, and you two must take your places with them—"

"I will not! I will not lend myself to such a wretched farce for another moment!" Edith exclaimed, and never for an instant suspecting that it was anything but a farce.

The face of Mrs. Goddard was a study, as was also her brother's, as these resolute words fell upon her ears; but she had no intention of undeceiving the girl at present, for she knew that if she threw up the character which she had thus far been impersonating, their plot would be ruined and a fearful scandal follow.

If they could only trick her into standing with the others to receive the congratulations of her guests—to be publicly addressed as, and appear to assent to the name of, Mrs. Correlli, she believed it would be comparatively easy later on to convince her of the truth and compel her to yield to the inevitable.

But she saw that Edith was thoroughly aroused—that she felt she had been badly used—that she had been shamefully imposed upon by having been cheated into figuring thus before hundreds of people with a man who was obnoxious to her.

Madam was at her wits' end, for the girl's resolute air and blazing eyes plainly indicated that she did not intend to be trifled with any longer.

She shot a glance of dismay at her brother, only to see a dark frown upon his brow, while he angrily gnawed his under lip.

She feared that, with his customary impulse, he might be contemplating revealing the truth, and such a course she well knew would result in a scene that would ruin the evening for everybody.

But just at this instant the bridesmaids came trooping into the room and created a blessed diversion.

"Here we are, dear Mrs. Goddard," a gay girl exclaimed. "Didn't it all go off beautifully, and isn't it time we were in our places for the reception?"

"Yes, yes; run along, all of you. Lead the way, Nellie, please—you know how to go up through the billiard-room," said Mrs. Goddard, nervously, as she gently pushed the girl toward the stairway. Then bending toward Edith, she whispered, imploringly:

"I beg, I entreat you, Edith, not to spoil everything—everybody will wonder why you are not with the others, and I cannot explain why you refused to stand with my brother. Go! go! you must not keep my guests waiting. Emil, take her," and with an imperative gesture to her brother, she swept on toward the stairway after the others to arrange them effectively in the drawing-room.

Emil Correlli shot a searching look into the face of the girl beside him.

It was cold and proud, the beautiful eyes still glowing with indignation. But resolving upon a bold move, he reached down, took her hand, and laid it upon his arm.

"Pardon me just this once," he said, humbly, "and let me add my entreaties to my sister's," and he tried gently to force her toward the stairway.

Edith drew herself up and took her hand from his arm.

"Go on," she said, haughtily, "and I will follow. Since I have been tricked into this affair so far, a little more of the same folly cannot matter, and rather than subject Mrs. Goddard to a public mortification, I will yield the point."

She made a gesture for him to proceed, and he turned to obey, a gleam of triumph leaping into his eyes at her concession.

Without a word they swiftly made their way back into the house and down to the elegant parlors where, at the upper end, the first object to greet their eyes was a beautiful floral arch with an exquisite marriage bell suspended from it.

On either side of this the bridesmaids and ushers had taken their places, and into the center of it Emil Correlli now led his companion.

And now ensued the last and most fiendish act in the dastardly plot.

Hardly were they in their places when the guests came pouring into the room, and the ushers began their duties of presentation, while Edith, with a sinking heart, but growing every moment more indignant and disgusted with what appeared to her only a horrible and senseless mockery, was obliged to respond to hundreds of congratulations and bear in silence being addressed as Mrs. Correlli.

It galled her almost beyond endurance—it was torture beyond description to her proud and sensitive spirit to be thus associated with one for whom she had no respect, and who had made himself all the more obnoxious by lending himself to the deception which had just been practiced upon her.

Once, when there was a little pause, she turned haughtily upon the man at her side.

"Why am I addressed thus?" she demanded.

"Why do you allow it? Why do you not correct these people and tell them to use the name that was used in the play rather than yours?"

The man grew white about the lips at these questions.

"Perhaps they forget—I—I suppose it seems more natural to address me by my name," he faltered.

"I do not like it—I will not submit to it a moment longer," Edith indignantly returned.

"Hush! it is almost over," said her companion, in a swift whisper, as others came forward just then, and she was obliged, though rebellious and heart-sick, to submit to the ordeal.

But it was over at last, for, as the introductions were made, the guests passed back to the carriage-house, which had been cleared for dancing, and where the musicians were discoursing alluring strains in rhythmic measure.

Even the bridesmaids and ushers, tempted by the sounds, at last deserted their posts, and Emil Correlli and his victim were finally left alone, the sole occupants of the drawing-room.

"Will you come and dance?" he inquired, as he turned a pleading look upon her. "Just once, to show that you forgive me for what I have done to-night."

"No, I cannot," said Edith, coldly and wearily. "I am going directly upstairs to divest myself of this mocking finery as soon as possible."

A swift, hot flush suffused Emil Correlli's face, at these words.

"Pray do not speak so bitterly and slightingly of what has made you, in my eyes at least, the most beautiful woman in this house to-night," he said, with a look of passionate yearning in his eyes.

"Flattery from you, sir, after what has occurred, is, to speak mildly, exceedingly unbecoming," Edith haughtily responded and turned proudly away from him as if about to leave the room.

But, at that moment, Mr. Goddard, who had not presented himself before, came hurriedly forward and confronted them. His face was very pale, but there was an angry light in his eyes and a bitter sneer upon his lips.

"Well, Correlli, I am bound to confess that you have stolen a march upon us to-night, in fine style," he remarked, in a mocking tone, "and madam—Mrs. Correlli, I should say—allow me to observe that you have outshone yourself this evening, both as an actress and a beauty! Really, the surprise, the denouement, to which you have treated us surpasses anything in my experience; it was certainly worthy of a Dumas! Permit me to offer you my heartiest congratulations."

Edith crimsoned with anger to her brows and shot a look of scorn at the man, for his manner was bitterly insolent and his tone had been violent with wounded feeling and derision throughout his speech.

"Let this wretched farce end here and now," she said, straightening herself and lifting her flashing eyes to his face. "I am heartily sick of it, and I trust you will never again presume to address me by the name that you have just used."

"Indeed! and are you so soon weary of your new title? Not yet an hour a bride, and sick of your bargain!" retorted Gerald Goddard, with a mocking laugh.

"I am no 'bride,' as you very well know, sir," spiritedly returned Edith.

The man regarded her with a look of astonishment.

He had been very much interested in his wife's clever play, until the last act, when he had been greatly startled by the change in the leading characters, both of whom he had instantly recognized in spite of their masks. He wondered why they had been substituted for Alice and Walter Kerby; when, upon also recognizing the clergyman, it had flashed upon him that this last scene was no "play"—it was to be a bona fide marriage planned, no doubt, by his wife for some secret reason best known to her and the young couple.

He did not once suspect that Edith was being tricked into an unwilling union.

He had known that Emil Correlli was fond of her, but he had not supposed he would care to make her his wife, although he had no doubt the girl would gladly avail herself of such an offer. Evidently the courtship had been secretly and successfully carried on; still, he could not understand why they should have adopted this exceedingly strange way to consummate their union, when there was nothing to stand in the way of a public marriage, if they desired it.

He was bitterly wounded and chagrined upon realizing how he had been ignored in the matter by all parties, and thus allowed to rush headlong into the piece of folly which he had committed, earlier in the evening, in connection with Edith.

Thus he had held himself aloof from the couple until every one else had left the parlors, when he mockingly saluted them as already described.

"No bride?" he repeated, skeptically.

"No, sir. I told you it was simply a farce. I was merely appealed to to take the place, in the play, of Miss Kerby, who was called home by telegram," Edith explained.

Mr. Goddard glanced from her to his brother-in-law in unfeigned perplexity.

"What are you saying?" he demanded. "Do you mean to tell me that you believe that last act was a farce?—that you do not know that you have been really and lawfully married to the man beside you?"

"Certainly I have not! What do you mean, sir, by such an unwarrantable assertion?" spiritedly retorted the young girl, but losing every atom of color, as a suspicion of the terrible truth flashed through her mind.

Gerald Goddard turned fiercely upon his brother-in-law at this, for he also now began to suspect treachery.

"What does she mean?" he cried, sternly. "Has she been led into this thing blindfolded?"

"I think it would be injudicious to make a scene here," Emil Correlli replied, in a low tone, but with white lips, as he realized that the moment which he had so dreaded had come at last.

"What do you mean? Why do you act and speak as if you believed that mockery to be a reality?" exclaimed Edith, looking from one face to the other with wildly questioning eyes.

"Edith," began Mr. Goddard, in an impressive tone, "do you not know that you are this man's wife?—that the ceremony on yonder stage was, in every essential, a legal one, and performed by the Rev. Mr. —— of the —— church in Boston?"

"No! never! I do not believe it. They never would have dared do such a dastardly deed!" panted the startled girl, in a voice of horror.

Then drawing her perfect form erect, she turned with a withering glance to the craven at her side.

"Speak!" she commanded. "Have you dared to play this miserable trick upon me?"

Emil Correlli quailed beneath the righteous indignation expressed in her flashing glance; his eyes drooped, and conscious guilt was shown in his very attitude.

"Forgive me—I loved you so," he stammered, and—she was answered.

She threw out her hands in a gesture of repudiation and horror; she flashed one withering, horrified look into his face, then, with a moan of anguish, she swayed like a reed broken by the tempest, and would have fallen to the floor in her spotless robes had not Gerald Goddard caught her senseless form in his arms, and, lifting her by main strength, he bore her from the room and upstairs to her own chamber.