The air was filled with a delicious scent of June roses. Wafted upon the light summer breeze it penetrated the chamber where Truth Ralston, a maiden, innocent and fair as a snow white dove, sat arrayed for her bridal.

The happy song of the birds outside fell like a mournful symphony upon her ear. She glanced into the mirror before her and saw the reflection of her own sorrowful heart.

In her little hands, trembling with the thought of the hour which was fast approaching, she held the veil she was so soon to wear, entwined with the flowers of the bridal-wreath. Upon these dainty flowers - symbols of innocence, tears fell like crystal dew-drops, revealing the sympathetic bond between her soul and the purity and loveliness of God's most perfect creation.

The glistening sheen of her silken robe enhanced the ethereal beauty of her face and revealed the symmetrical outline of her lithe figure. The changeful expressiveness of her mobile features gave her countenance a singular and indefinable charm, which was accentuated by a certain wistful gravity of demeanor, unusual to one so young, due to a calamity that had befallen the early years of her life.

When a mere child she was stricken with scarlet fever, which left her partially blind; skilled oculists pronounced her case incurable. Her parents were obliged to place her in the school for the blind, where after three years, her sight was restored in a manner that in earlier years would have been deemed miraculous.

Truth's father, who did not live to rejoice in the restoration of his daughter's sight, left a fortune, while not large, was amply sufficient to provide, not only for the comforts of his wife and daughter, but for the refinements of luxury as well. To compensate for the long darkness, the years following the recovery of Truth's sight, were filled with the delights of travel, and varied diversions that fill a society girl's life.

Mrs. Ralston was a thoroughly worldly woman, ambitious only for the social success of her child. Accordingly, she had not been slow in accepting an invitation for herself and Truth, from the young millionaire, Clarence Vallero, to accompany him on a cruise along the Mediterranean coast, where amid scenes of entrancing beauty, Truth and her handsome host had been daily thrown together.

Gradually the mysterious spell of the sea, the languorous clime and the magnetic personality of her companion, wrought upon the girl's sensitive nature until she at last yielded to her mother's wishes and the impetuous ardor of Vallero's wooing, and consented to become his wife. How quickly time had fled since Truth had given her pledge. The deluge of social affairs that had been showered upon her, following the announcement of her marriage, had scarcely left a moment for serious reflection.

How swiftly the momentous day had arrived, and the hour was fast approaching when she must fulfill her promise. At the thought Truth trembled. "How strangely my heart misgives me - what is this unspeakable dread? Can it be merely the timidity natural to one on such a sacred occasion? No! No! I must confess that I am afraid - horribly afraid - of something I cannot explain. Whenever I am in the presence of Clarence an influence comes over me, something uncanny. I - I feel - "

There came a knock at the door and a graceful and girlish figure, tastefully gowned in pink, entered merrily.

"Truth, where are you, dear? Clarence is here and waiting for you with the proverbial impatience of a lover," she laughed, going at once to where Truth sat. So direct and unhesitating was her manner that at first glance, one unacquainted with her, would not have detected her infirmity. Faith Morris was blind. The two girls had been inseparable companions during the years of Truth's stay in the school for the blind and in loyal-hearted affection Truth had chosen this dear comrade of her misfortune to be maid of honor, upon what she had fondly hoped to be the happiest day of her life.

"How I long to behold you in your wedding gown, sweetheart, but I must be content with imagining how beautiful you are." With a light, deft touch she passed her hands over the silken robe, shining hair and tear wet face of her friend.

"What! tears at this time, so near the hour of happiness?"

Faith entwined her arms about Truth's beautiful neck and kissed her with sweetest tenderness. But Truth's tears fell thick and fast against the filmy folds of her bridal veil.

For a moment Faith stood in wondering astonishment, then brushing the tears from Truth's wet lashes, she whispered reassuringly: "Ah, love is ever like this, dear heart - they are simply tears of joy." Then as she received no reply - "Speak, dear one, you know that my heart and soul are always open to your most sacred confidence."

"Oh, Faith, Faith, listen to me," Truth burst forth in a voice trembling with emotion, "I feel like one waking from a terrible dream. Help me to think clearly. I feel as though I were about to commit a sacrilege, as if I did not love Clarence well enough to marry him. His love for me is not what my heart and soul crave. Oh, let me tear off the mask of self-deception. Faith, Faith, can't you realize that these tears, are the cry of my soul? What shall I do? What shall I do?"

"Truth, my dear little sister, what are you saying? How can I advise you - the time is all too short. Think, dear, in an hour we must be at the church. Oh, Truth, try to calm yourself and think clearly. Are you quite sure this is not a morbid fancy that will pass? Your nerves are overwrought with the excitement of the wedding. This sudden revulsion of feeling is not to be trusted."

"No! No! Faith it's not so sudden as you imagine. If only I had given more thought to things that are so vital to a happy union and of which I am so ignorant. Never until my talk with Adoni, after last night's rehearsal, have I given these things the slightest consideration. You know how wise and sympathetic his talks to us at the school always were and with what wonderful insight he is gifted. Last night he seemed to divine that all was not right and counselled me, as my father would have done had he lived, and as my mother should have done, if she was not blinded by the material advantages of this marriage. Love to her has ever been a minor consideration, not permitted to interfere with her worldly ambitions; it would therefore be useless to appeal to her now but I am resolved not to go to the altar without first talking to Clarence about my fears."