It was a thunderclap. No one moved or spoke for a full minute. Felix Brush was the only one who seemed to retain command of his senses. Stepping forward, 317 with a strange smile on his seamed countenance, he extended his hand to the groom.
“Allow me to congratulate you, lieutenant; and, Nellie, I don’t think you will deny me my fee.”
With which he bent over and tenderly kissed her.
“O, Mr. Brush, are we really married?” she asked in a faint, wild voice.
“As legally as if it were done by the archbishop of Canterbury and if––”
But he got no further, for her arms were transferred from the neck of her husband to those of the parson, whom she smothered with her caresses.
“Bless your heart! You are the nicest, best, sweetest, loveliest man that ever lived,––excepting Fred and father––”
“And me,” added Wade Ruggles, stepping forward.
“Yes, and you, you great big angel,” she replied, bestowing an equally warm embrace upon him.
The two rugged fellows had won the greatest victory that can be achieved by man, for they had conquered themselves. When the great light broke in upon their consciousness, each resolved to let the dead past bury its dead and to face the future like the manly heroes they were.