But the French officer--a general now, perhaps with one arm off--came to Newbern to claim his bride.

He had been one of the impetuous sort that simply would not take no for an answer.

The wedding was in the Methodist church, and was a glittering public function.

The groom was not only splendidly handsome in a French way, but wore a shining uniform, and upon his breast sparkled a profusion of medals.

A vast crowd outside the church waited to cheer the happy couple, and slinking at the rear of this was a drab Lyman Teaford--without medals, without uniform, dull, prosaic, enduring at this moment pangs of the keenest remorse for his hasty act of a year before.