Once again Lily stood in her old familiar chamber, with the robes of satin and lace trailing over the velvet carpet, and the snowy mist of the bridal veil hiding the blushes that came and went on her lovely face.

"There is no one to envy your happiness now, Lily," said Ada, as she clasped the pearl necklace around her sister's snowy neck. "That dreadful woman is dead!"

"It is so cruel a thing to remember, dear; let us try to forget the sin, and forgive the sinner!"

"Amen!" said Ada, solemnly.

Mr. Lawrence came in, and kissed and blessed them with a sadness on his face that he could not wholly hide. The only alleviation to the sorrow of that hour was the knowledge that he was giving the happiness of his beloved children into the keeping of "good men and true."

"Papa, you must not forget what I told you once before," whispered Lily, through April tears and smiles. "You will not lose your daughters; you will only gain two sons."

Lily was to go to a beautiful home on Fifth avenue, close to that of her father. Lancelot had been busy for months preparing his splendid mansion for the home-coming of his bride, and now it only awaited the sunshine of her presence to become an earthly Eden.

Ada and her husband were to live with the banker. His great house would be so lonely, the old man pleaded, with both his darlings gone. So they yielded to his wish and promised to make his house their home as long as he lived.

The grand portals of Trinity Church opened wide to admit the two lovely brides.

New York had never seen a grander marriage, nor brides so lovely, nor bridegrooms more gallant and handsome. Trinity was thronged with their friends, and the pavements outside were crowded with interested spectators. No marriage had excited so much interest for years as that of the lovely girl whose romantic story was known far and wide.

"She is beautiful as a dream," they whispered, when the first bride pa.s.sed over the flower-strewn pavement to the church steps. "And the sister is equally lovely," they cried, rapturously, when the trembling Ada followed after her.

"G.o.d bless them both!" whispered a good woman who had a prominent seat in the church.

It was Mrs. Mason, the kind soul whom Lily had not forgotten when her wedding cards were issued to her friends.

So amid good wishes and blessings the fair brides pa.s.sed up the stately aisle on the arms of their father, followed by a score of lovely bridesmaids in snowy flower-bedecked robes. At the altar they were met by Lancelot and Philip, and then, above the pealing notes of the wedding march, the minister's voice arose in the beautiful words of the marriage service.

Silence brooded over the throng softly as the wings of a dove, while the holy, reverent words filled the church. In the stillness the sweet responses of the brides even were distinctly audible. The rings were slipped upon their fingers, the solemn words of the benediction were spoken, and then, with the sweet strains of music echoing above their heads, the fragrance of flowers beneath their feet, and the tender blessings of friends around them, the two beautiful brides, with their chosen mates, went forth with smiles to the future that lay beaming in the sunshine of love and happiness.

[THE END.]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

QUEENIE'S TERRIBLE SECRET

OR,

_A Young Girl's Strange Fate_.

By MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER.

CHAPTER I.

"There is positively not a dollar left to buy a dress for Queenie and yet she _will_ insist upon going to the ball. Could you let me have your old green silk to make over for her, Sydney?"

The small figure perched on the top of a large Saratoga trunk sprang down upon the floor, and stamped her foot so vehemently that the blue satin bow flew off from her tiny slipper.

"_Wear_ Sydney's old green silk to the ball!" cried Queenie, indignantly. "Indeed I _won't_, mamma, I will stay at home first!"

"The best place for you," said her sister, Sydney, calmly. "I see no use in taking a child like you to Mrs. Kirk's grand ball."

"A child, indeed," flashed the younger sister, with a pout of her rosebud lips. "I am as tall as you, Syd, and I was seventeen yesterday.

It's real mean to call me a child and leave me at home every time I get invited out. I know why it is, though. It's because mamma spends every dollar papa gives her decking out you and Georgie, and there's never a decent thing left for me to wear."

"It is because you are too pretty, my dear," laughed her father, who had entered the dressing-room unnoticed. "The girls keep you back because they are afraid you will cut them out with their fine beaux."

Sydney and Georgina flushed angrily and muttered that it wasn't so, and that papa ought to be ashamed of himself--it was all his fault that Queenie was setting herself up for a woman so fast when he couldn't afford to dress the two that were already grown decently enough for the position they had to fill in society.

The poor, worried mother, having been so quickly snubbed on the subject of the old green silk, looked on and said nothing.

"I give you every cent I can spare from my business, girls," said Mr.

Lyle, in a vexed tone, "and this time I strained a point and pinched myself in order that little Queenie might have a new dress and go to the ball, too."

"But they have spent every cent upon themselves!" cried pretty little Queenie with the tears of vexation standing in her pansy-blue eyes. "The dressing-room is littered all over with their finery yet they want me to wear that horrid green silk of Syd's! A pretty fright I should look!"

"Never mind, dear, you can stay at home with your old papa. Your time will come after awhile when the girls are married and out of the way,"

said her father kindly, as he drew his arm about her. "Maybe it is true that I have spoiled you, dear, and that you are too young to go to such a grand ball."

"No, I am not, papa. I am quite old enough, and I know how to dance, and I love to dance, and I _will_ go to the ball," exclaimed the pretty, willful little creature, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

"But, Queenie, what on earth will you wear?" asked the poor, tired mother, who was quite worn out with the worry of keeping herself and her two elder girls well-dressed. "I have no money to give you a new dress."

Queenie stood meditating, with her head perched on one side like a little bird, her slender, arched brows puckered into a thoughtful frown.

"I'll tell you," said she at length, "I shall sell my painted fan--the white satin one that Uncle Rob sent me from Paris. It is worth fifteen dollars at least, and I can certainly get five for it. Five dollars will buy lots of white tarleton, and I can make the dress myself. There are plenty of flowers in the garden, so you see I can make a toilet for the ball," she added, half laughing.

"Sell Uncle Rob's gift!" cried mamma and the girls in concert.

"Necessity knows no law!" answered Queenie, dancing out of the room to avoid their remonstrances.

"Mr. Lyle, you really should not allow her to sell her uncle's beautiful gift!" exclaimed Mrs. Lyle, in a vexed tone.

"I certainly shall not try to prevent her," answered her husband, rather shortly. "If you had acted fairly by her and divided the money I gave you for the three girls she need not have been driven to such straits as to sell her pretty fan. Why, I gave you a hundred dollars, and she only wants five for her dress. You might have spared her that small pittance!"

"I did not think she would be contented with such a shabby dress,"

muttered Mrs. Lyle.

"Queenie only wants to enjoy herself," said the fond father. "She will be as beautiful and as happy in her five-dollar tarleton as Georgie and Sydney in their elegant silks."