Happy is the bride that the sun shines upon,’ says the old proverb; and the sun shone bravely for Ruth Adrian’s wedding-day.

It poured in chastened splendour through the stained-glass windows of the quiet church, and fell upon Ruth Adrian as she knelt at the altar, her head bowed, and her sweet eyes filled with tears of happiness and love.

There were no omen-readers there to croak and prophesy, or they would have noticed how strangely this strange stream of sunshine divided bride and bridegroom. It caught the window at an angle which threw it on half the church only, leaving the other half untouched. While Ruth was bathed in its bright warm beams, Marston stood always wrapped in the shadow.

As the solemn words of the service fell from the lips of the clergyman, the voice woke in the bridegroom’s heart the memory of the sermon that had seemed like a warning and a threat to him on the day the banns were first published.

The solemn charge, ‘I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed,’ caused him to wince as the eyes of the clergyman met his.

Was he always to be haunted like this? Could he never shake off this strange new consciousness that had come upon him?

He looked at Ruth almost sorrowfully once as the thought flashed upon him that perhaps in the far-off future she might look back and curse the day that made her his.

But she answered his glance with a sweet smile, and it seemed as though a new heaven opened for him—a heaven in which he might forget the past and be at rest.

Oh, how fervently he hoped that here he had reached the outskirts of a new world! He would not abuse the trust confided to him. From this moment no evil thought should sully his mind.

If only the dead past would bury its dead—if only those pale ghosts that haunted him would fade in the bright sunlight of this new life—he would work as man had never worked yet to prove that he had bitterly and sincerely repented of the evil he had done.

‘I, Ruth, take thee, Edward, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.’

The prize was won, the golden badge of ownership glistened on the trembling hand of the beautiful bride, and the voice of the Church called down God’s blessing on the union.

Ruth shed just one tear; but it was a tear of happiness—a tear coming from a heart overflowing with love and gratitude. And as it fell upon the hand that lay trembling in Marston’s, he stooped and kissed it away. Ah, me! if every tear that those sweet eyes are to shed could only be as lightly banished!

Of course Mrs. Adrian cried; and Gertie, who was brave in her beautiful new dress for the occasion, and who was very much overawed by the proceedings, cried a little, too. She didn’t know why. She saw Mrs. Adrian weep, and she saw Ruth’s lips tremble, and, being of a sympathetic nature and easily moved, she cried just to keep them company, though all the time she was thinking how beautiful and how good Ruth was, and wishing Lion could have been there to see what had come of the Little Queer Street lessons after all.

Lion was not forgotten in the general joy. He was the first to meet the bridal party on their return. He came to the door with a huge white satin bow on, and he wagged his tail in a congratulatory and highly complimentary manner. But he made a sad mess of it after all, for he leaped upon Gertie and put his great paws on her beautiful dress, whereupon he was severely lectured, and afterwards kissed and hugged, and promised a piece of wedding-cake if he was good.

Mr. and Mrs. Marston were going to Paris to spend their honeymoon, and they were going down to Dover by an afternoon train. Ruth had named Paris as the place she would like to see, and of course she had chosen the short sea route.

All had been arranged for the new housekeeping. Mr. Adrian’s effects would be sold off during their absence, and then the old couple would move into the new house, and greet the young couple there on their return.

Marston would have given anything rather than have been compelled to travel that route on his wedding-day. But he had left the choice to Ruth, and he would not oppose her first wish. He would not allow his past to step in and create difficulties already.

As the train rushed down to the sea with them, the scene of the gold robbery came back vividly to his mind.

Something on the journey brought it to Ruth’s mind, and she spoke of it to Marston. Little did she dream how every word stabbed her husband like a knife.

She spoke first of the marvellous way in which the crime had been effected, for she had read the graphic newspaper accounts. She wondered what the thieves would do with so large a sum, and how they had managed to escape detection.

‘But it will bring them no good!’ she said. ‘I always pity the men who commit these terrible crimes. What peace can they know—what happiness have they ever known?’

Marston’s face flushed, and he complained of the heat, and lowered the window.

As he did so the train was stopping at a station.

The afternoon papers were out, and the contents sheets were posted against the bookstalls.

One of the lines caught Marston’s eye, and he closed the window as though he had been shot, and sat back in the carriage trembling violently.

This was the line:—‘The great Gold Robbery—A Clue to the Thieves,’