"She-cat, Madame Dor?"

"Engaged to sit watching my so charming
mouse," are the explanatory words of Madame
Dor, delivered with a penitential sob.

"Why, you were our best friend! George,
dearest, tell Madame Dor. Was she not our
best friend?"

"Undoubtedly, darling. What should we
have done without her?"

"You are both so generous," cries
Madame Dor, accepting consolation, and
immediately relapsing. "But I commenced as a
she-cat."

"Ah! But like the cat in the fairy-story,
good Madame Dor," says Vendale, saluting
her cheek, "you were a true woman. And,
being a true woman, the sympathy of your heart
was with true love."

"I don't wish to deprive Madame Dor of her
share in the embraces that are going on," Mr.
Bintrey puts in, watch in hand, "and I don't
presume to offer any objection to your having
got yourselves mixed together, in the corner
there, like the three Graces. I merely remark
that I think it's time we were moving. What
are your sentiments on that subject, Mr.
Ladle?"

"Clear, sir," replies Joey, with a gracious
grin. "I'm clearer altogether, sir, for having
lived so many weeks upon the surface. I never
was half so long upon the surface afore, and it's
done me a power of good. At Cripple Corner,
I was too much below it. Atop of the Simpleton,
I was a deal too high above it. I've found
the medium here, sir. And if ever I take it
in convivial, in all the rest of my days, I mean
to do it this day, to the toast of 'Bless 'em
both.'"

"I, too!" says Bintrey. "And now,
Monsieur Voigt, let you and me be two men of
Marseilles, and allons, marchons, arm-in-arm!"

They go down to the door, where others are
waiting for them, and they go quietly to the
church, and the happy marriage takes place.
While the ceremony is yet in progress, the
notary is called out. When it is finished, he
has returned, is standing behind Vendale, and
touches him on the shoulder.

"Go to the side door, one moment,
Monsieur Vendale. Alone. Leave Madame
to me."

At the side door of the church, are the same
two men from the Hospice. They are snow-
stained and travel-worn. They wish him joy,
and then each lays his broad hand upon
Vendale's breast, and one says in a low voice, while
the other steadfastly regards him:

"It is here, Monsieur. Your litter. The
very same."

"My litter is here? Why?"

"Hush! For the sake of Madame. Your
companion of that day——-"

"What of him?"

The man looks at his comrade, and his
comrade takes him up. Each keeps his hand laid
earnestly on Vendale's breast.

"He had been living at the first Refuge,
monsieur, for some days. The weather was
now good, now bad."

"Yes?"

"He arrived at our Hospice the day before
yesterday, and, having refreshed himself with
sleep on the floor before the fire, wrapped in
his cloak, was resolute to go on, before dark,
to the next Hospice. He had a great fear of
that part of the way, and thought it would be
worse to-morrow."

"Yes?"

"He went on alone. He had passed the
gallery, when an avalanche—like that which fell
behind you near the Bridge of the Ganther——"

"Killed him?"

"We dug him out, suffocated and broken all
to pieces! But, monsieur, as to Madame. We
have brought him here on the litter, to be buried.
We must ascend the street outside. Madame
must not see. It would be an accursed thing
to bring the litter through the arch across the
street, until Madame has passed through. As
you descend, we who accompany the litter will
set it down on the stones of the street the
second to the right, and will stand before it.
But do not let Madame turn her head towards
the street the second to the right. There is no
time to lose. Madame will be alarmed by your
absence. Adieu!"

Vendale returns to his bride, and draws her
hand through his unmaimed arm. A pretty
procession awaits them at the main door of
the church. They take their station in it, and
descend the street amidst the ringing of the bells,
the firing of the guns, the waving of the flags,
the playing of the music, the shouts, the smiles,
and tears, of the excited town. Heads are
uncovered as she passes, hands are kissed to
her, all the people bless her. "Heaven's
benediction on the dear girl! See where she goes in
her youth and beauty; she who so nobly saved
his life!"

Near the corner of the street the second to
the right, he speaks to her, and calls her
attention to the windows on the opposite side. The
corner well passed, he says: "Do not look
round, my darling, for a reason that I have,"
and turns his head. Then, looking back along
the street, he sees the litter and its bearers
passing up alone under the arch, as he and she
and their marriage train go down towards tbe
shining valley.