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 heard footsteps and the rustling of silk and satin. John Bishop and Ruth entered the room, and, occupying the chairs reserved for them, sat facing the company. Then silence again, only broken at last by John rising and holding out his hand to Ruth, who also rose and said those words of mighty import that forever bound him to her. She made like promises to him, and they were married.

The marriage certificate, brought under protest and not likely to be accepted, was signed by those present, but lacked the one signature Ruth most highly prized,—her mother's. Then the restraint of formality and of solemnity fell away, and the buzz and hum of many voices filled the room. There was now an end to the mystery, and the good people of the valley must find some other subject for discussion and wondering. While the excitement was at its height and every one talking at if not to his fellow, a little incident caused a momentary pause. For reasons she alone could explain, but many correctly surmised, the Watsons had