"It is the girls coming back to take you down stairs," said Mrs. Brantwell. "And now, my own, my dearest girl, may Heaven bless you, and grant you all happiness."
"Amen!" solemnly, almost sadly, said Sibyl, as she returned her embrace, and stood waiting the entrance of her bride-maids.
They burst in in a bevy, fluttering round the bride like bright-winged birds, as they shook out their glittering plumage with little, white, jeweled hands, and announced that the bridegroom and his friends were waiting for them in the hall below.
And together the bride and her friends descended the stairs, followed by Mrs. Brantwell, and entered the hall, crowded with guests.
A low murmur of admiration passed through the throng at sight of the radiant bride. And Willard Drummond, handsome, suave, and stately, stepped forward and drew her hand within his arm, and led her to the carriage that was to convey them to the church.
The others followed; and as that sacred edifice was situated but a few yards from the house, they reached it in a short time.
The church, too, was crowded, mostly by strangers, some from places far distant, drawn together by the rumors of the bride's wondrous beauty. So crowded was it that half the bridal party could not find seats, but were obliged to stand.
Mr. Brantwell, in full canonicals, stood, book in hand, awaiting their approach.
They advanced under the admiring eyes of the crowd, and stood before him.
And at that very instant, like an inspiration, flashed across the eyes of Willard Drummond the remembrance of the strange vision he had seen years before. Here it was, all there before him. The crowded church, the bridal party, the clergyman and bride wearing exactly the faces of those he had beheld then.