Kidnapped at the Altar: or, The Romance of that Saucy Jessie Bain

"If anything comes of this enforced separation, always remember that I pleaded hard against it, but in the end yielded to your wishes." On the morrow Hubert Varrick left Boston.

During the months that followed Jessie lived quietly at the Varrick mansion with Hubert's mother.

The year of probation had not yet waned, when, one lovely April morning, while Jessie was walking through the grounds that surrounded the mansion, she espied a bearded stranger standing at the gate, leaning on it with folded arms, evidently lost in admiration of the early blossoming buds and half-blown roses.

"Permit me to gather you some of the roses you seem to be admiring so much, sir," she said, courteously.

"Pardon me, would you permit me to enter and gather for myself the one I care for most?"

The request was an odd one, but she granted it with a smile.

He swung open the heavy gate, and in an instant was by her side, folding her in his arms, and kissing her with all his soul on his lips.

"Am I changed so that Love can not recognise me?" he cried.

"Hubert – oh, Hubert! is it you—really you?" sobbed Jessie, laughing and crying all in a breath.

And there Mrs. Varrick found them an hour later, planning for the marriage, which Hubert declared should be solemnized before the sun set. This time he had his own way, and when the stars came out, they shone on sweet little Jessie Bain, a bride; and surely the sweetest and most adorable one that ever a young husband worshiped.

And there we will leave them, dear reader, for when a girl marries, all the ills of life should be left behind her, and she should dwell in sunshine and love ever after.

Those who knew her as pretty, saucy, sweet Jessie Bain never forgot her. And may I hope that this will be the case with you, my dear reader?