At length every invited guest had arrived.  All being so thoroughly acquainted, nearly all related, there was an entire absence of stiffness and constraint, and much lively chat had been carried on; but a sudden hush fell upon them, and every eye turned toward the doors opening into the hall, expecting—­they knew not what.

There were soft foot-falls, a slight rustle of silk, and Adelaide entered followed by Mr. Travilla with Elsie on his arm, in bridal attire.  The shimmering satin, rich, soft lace and orange blossoms became her well; and never, even on that memorable night ten years ago, had she looked lovelier or more bride-like; never had her husband bent a prouder, fonder look upon her fair face than now as he led her to the centre of the room, where they paused in front of their pastor.

A low murmur of surprise and delight ran round the room, but was suddenly stilled, as the venerable man rose and began to speak.

“Ten years ago to-night, dear friends, I united you in marriage.  Edward Travilla, you then vowed to love, honor and cherish till life’s end the woman whom you now hold by the hand.  Have you repented of that vow? and would you be released?”

“Not for worlds:  there has been no repentance, but my love has grown deeper and stronger day by day.”

“And you, Elsie Dinsmore Travilla, also vowed to love, honor and obey the man you hold by the hand.  Have you repented?”

“Never, sir; never for one moment.”  The accents were low, sweet, clear, and full of pleasure.

“I pronounce you a faithful man and wife:  and may God, in his good providence, grant you many returns of this happy anniversary.”

Old Mr. Dinsmore stepped up, kissed the bride and shook hands with the groom.  “Blessings on you for making her so happy,” he said in quivering tones.

His son followed, then the others in their turn, and a merry scene ensued.

“Mamma, it was so pretty, so pretty,” little Elsie said, clasping her arms about her mother’s neck, “and now I just feel as if I’d been to your wedding.  Thank you, dear mamma and papa.”

“Mamma, you are so beautiful, I’ll just marry you myself, when I’m a man,” remarked Eddie, giving her a hearty kiss, then gazing into her face with his great dark eyes full of love and admiration.

“I too,” chimed in Violet.  “No, no, I forget, I shall be a lady myself:  so I’ll have to marry papa.”

“No, Vi, oo tan’t have my papa; he’s dus’ my papa always,” objected Harold, climbing his father’s knee.

“What a splendid idea, Elsie,” Lucy Ross was saying to her friend, “you have made me regret, for the first time, not having kept my wedding dress; for I believe my Phil and I could go through that catechism quite as well as you and Mr. Travilla.  The whole thing, I suppose, was quite original?”

“Among us:  my namesake daughter proposed the wearing of the dress:  and the ceremony,” turning to the minister, “was your idea, Mr. Wood, was it not?”