"Am I late, madame? Surely your clock is wrong."

"My clock is never wrong, Cornelia, A Dutch clock will always go just about so. Come, now, sit down, and let us talk of such follies as weddings and wedding gowns."

In this conversation Hyde triumphantly redeemed his promise of assistance. He could describe with a delightful accuracy--or inaccuracy-- the lovely toilets and pretty accessories of the high English wedding feasts of the previous year. And in some subtle way he threw into these descriptions such a glamour of romance, such backgrounds of old castles and chiming bells, of noble dames glittering with gems, and village maids scattering roses, of martial heroes, and rejoicing lovers, all moving in an atmosphere of song and sunshine, that the little party sat listening, entranced, with sympathetic eyes drinking in his wonderful descriptions.

Madame Jacobus was the first to interrupt these pretty reminiscences. "All this is very fine," she said, "but the most of it is no good for us. The satin and the lace and even the gems, we can have; the music can be somehow managed, and we shall not make a bad show as to love and beauty. But castles and lords and military pomp, and old cathedrals hung with battle flags-- Such things are not to be had here, and, in plain truth, they are not necessary for the wedding of a simple maid like our Arenta."

"You forget, then, that my Athanase is of almost royal descent," said Arenta. "A very old family are the Tounnerres--older, indeed, than the royal Capets."

"No one is to-day so poor as to envy the royal Capets; and as for an ancient family, Captain Jacobus used to speak of his forefathers as 'the old fellows whom the flood could not wash away.' Jacobus always put his ideas in such clear, forcible words. What I want to know is this--where is the ceremony to be performed?"

"The civil ceremony is to be at the French Embassy," answered Arenta with some pride.

"Is that all there is to it?"

"Aunt! How could you imagine that I should be satisfied with a civil ceremony? My father also insists upon a religious ceremony; and my Athanase told him he was willing to marry me in every church in America. I am not Gertrude Kippon! No, indeed! I insist on everything being done in a moral and respectable manner. My father spoke of Doctor Kunz for the religious part."

"I like not Doctor Kunz," answered madame. "Bishop Provoost and the Episcopal service is the proper thing. Doctor Kunz will be sure to say some sharp words--his tongue is full of them--he stands too stiff--he does not use his hands gracefully--his walk and carriage is not dignified--and he looks at you through spectacles--and I, for one, do not like to be looked at through spectacles. We must decide for the Episcopal church."

"And the little trip after it," continued Arenta. "Lieutenant Hyde says that, in England, it is now the proper thing."

"But in America it is not the proper thing. It is a rude unmannerly way to run off with a bride. We are not red Indians, nor is the Marquis carrying you by force from some hostile tribe. The nuptial trip is a barbarism. I am now weary. Lieutenant, take Miss Moran and show her my garden. I tell you, it is worth walking through; and when you have seen the flowers, Arenta and I will give you a cup of tea."

Arenta would gladly have gone into the garden also, but her aunt detained her. "Can you not see," she asked, "that those two are in love with each other? Give love its hour. They do not want your company."

"And for that very reason I wish to go with them. My brother is in love with Cornelia, and I am for Rem, and not for a stranger--also, my father and Cornelia's father are both for Rem; and, besides, Doctor Moran hates the Hydes. He will not let Cornelia marry the man."

"HE WILL NOT LET! When did Doctor John become omnipotent? Love laughs at fathers, as well as at locksmiths. And if Doctor John is against young Hyde, then I shall the more cheerfully be for him--a pleasant, handsome youth as ever I saw, is he; and Doctor John--well, he is neither pleasant nor handsome."

"Aunt Angelica! I am astonished at you! Every one will contradict what you say."

"For that reason, I will maintain it. It is not my way to shout with the multitude."

With some hesitation, yet quite carried away by Hyde's personal longing and impulse, Cornelia went into the garden with her lover. It was a green, shady place, full of great maple-trees and flowering vines and shrubs, and patches of green grass. All kinds of sweet old-fashioned flowers grew there, mingling their scent with the strawberries' perfume and the woody odours of the ripening cherries. They were alone in this lovely place; the high privet hedges hid them from the outside world, and the babble and rumble of Broadway came to them only as the murmur of noise in a dream. Speechless with joy, Hyde clasped Cornelia's slender fingers, and they went together down the few broad low steps which led them into the green shadows of the trees. How soft was the grassy turf! How exquisite the westering sunlight, sifting through the maple leaves! They looked into each other's eyes and smiled, but were too happy to speak. For they had suddenly come into that land, which is east of the sun, and west of the moon; that land not laid down on any chart, but which we feel to be our rightful heritage.

Slowly, as they stepped, they came at length to a little summerhouse. It was covered with a thick jessamin vine; and the mysterious, languorous perfume of its starlike flowers filled the narrow resting-place with the very atmosphere of love. They sat down there, and in a few moments the seal was broken and Hyde's heart found out all the sweetest words that love could speak. Cornelia trembled; she blushed, she smiled, she suffered herself to be drawn close to his side; and, at last, in some sweet, untranslatable way, she gave him the assurance of her love. Then they found in delicious silence the eloquence that words were incompetent to translate; time was forgotten, and on earth there was once more an interlude of heavenly harmony in which two souls became one and Paradise was regained.

Arenta's voice, petulant and not pleasant, broke the charm. With a sigh they rose, dropped each other's hand, and went out of their heaven on earth to meet her.

"Tea is waiting," she said, "and Rem is waiting, and my aunt is tired, and you two have forgotten that the clock moves." Then they laughed, and laughter is always fatal to feeling; the magical land of love was suddenly far away, and there was the sound of china, and the heavy tones of Rem's voice--dissatisfied, if not angry--and Arenta's lighter fret; and they stood once more among fetishes and forms so foreign, fabulous and fantastical, that it was difficult to pass from the land of love, and all its pure delights, into their atmosphere.

It would have been harder but for Madame Jacobus. She understood; and she sympathized; and there was a kindly element in her nature which disposed her to side with the lovers. Her smile,--quick and short as a flash of the eyes--revealed to Hyde her intention of favour, and without one spoken word, these two knew themselves to be of the same mind. And, in parting, she held his hand while she talked, saying at last the very words he longed to hear--

"We shall expect you again on Thursday, Lieutenant. Everything is yet undecided, and the work you have begun, it is right that you should finish."

He answered only, "Thank you, madame!" but he accompanied the words with a look which asked so much, and confessed so much, that madame felt herself to be a silent confidante and a not unwilling accomplice. And when she had closed the door on her guests, she acknowledged it. "But then," she whispered, "I always did dearly love a lover; and this promises to be a love affair that will need my help--plenty of good honest hatred for it to combat--and wealth and rank and all sorts of conflicting conditions to get the better of--Well, then, my help is ready. In plain truth, I don't like such perfection as Doctor John; and my nephew Rem is not interesting. He is sulky, and Hyde is good- tempered, just like his father, too; and there never was a more fascinating man than Dick Hyde. HE-HO! I remember!--I remember!--and yet I dare say Dick has forgotten my very name--this is a marriage that will exactly suit me--I don't care who is against it!" Then she said softly to herself--

"REM went to Cornelia as they were about to leave, and he reminded her that, by her permission, he had come to walk home with her.

"CORNELIA turned to Hyde, excused herself, and, cool and silent, took her place by Rem's side.

"HYDE accepted the position with a smile, and a gracious bow, and then joined Arenta.

"ARENTA was far less agreeable than she ought to have been; for both she and her brother had a kind of divination. They knew, in spite of appearances, that Rem had not got the best of Joris Hyde. I am quick in my observations, and I know this is so. Well then, it is a very interesting affair as it stands--and it is like to grow far more interesting. I am not opposed to that. I shall enjoy it. Hyde and Cornelia ought to marry--and they have my good wishes."

As for Hyde, no thought that could mar the sweetness and joy of this fortunate hour came into his mind. Neither Rem's evident hatred, nor Arenta's disapproval, nor yet Cornelia's silence, troubled him. He had within his heart a talisman that made everything propitious. And he was so joyous that the people whom he passed on the street caught happiness from him. Men and women alike turned to look after the youth, for they felt the virtue of his passing presence, and wondered what it might mean. Even the necessary parting from Cornelia was only a phase of this wonderful gladness; for Love never fails of his token, and, though Arenta's sharp eyes could not discover it, Hyde received the silent message that was meant for him, and for him only. That one thought made his heart bound and falter with its exquisite delight--for him only--for him only, was that swift but certain assurance; that instantaneous bright flash of love that held in it all heaven and earth, and left him, as he told himself again and again, the happiest man in all the world.

He was hardly responsible for his actions at this hour; for when a swift gallop brought him to the Van Heemskirk house, he quite unconsciously struck the door some rapid, forceful blows, with his riding whip. His grandfather opened it with an angry face.

"I thought it was thee," he said. "Now, then, in such lordly fashion, whom didst thou summon? dog or slave, was it?"