The ceremony was performed on April fifteenth, at the residence of Mrs. Gerald, a Roman Catholic priest officiating.
Lester was a poor example of the faith he occasionally professed.
He was an agnostic, but because he had been reared in the church he felt that he might as well be married in it.
Some fifty guests, intimate friends, had been invited.
The ceremony went off with perfect smoothness.
There were jubilant congratulations and showers of rice and confetti.
While the guests were still eating and drinking Lester and Letty managed to escape by a side entrance into a closed carriage, and were off.
Fifteen minutes later there was pursuit pell-mell on the part of the guests to the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific depot; but by that time the happy couple were in their private car, and the arrival of the rice throwers made no difference.
More champagne was opened; then the starting of the train ended all excitement, and the newly wedded pair were at last safely off.
"Well, now you have me," said Lester, cheerfully pulling Letty down beside him into a seat, "what of it?"
"This of it," she exclaimed, and hugged him close, kissing him fervently.
In four days they were in San Francisco, and two days later on board a fast steamship bound for the land of the Mikado.
In the meanwhile Jennie was left to brood.
The original announcement in the newspapers had said that he was to be married in April, and she had kept close watch for additional information.
Finally she learned that the wedding would take place on April fifteenth at the residence of the prospective bride, the hour being high noon.
In spite of her feeling of resignation, Jennie followed it all hopelessly, like a child, hungry and forlorn, looking into a lighted window at Christmas time.
On the day of the wedding she waited miserably for twelve o'clock to strike; it seemed as though she were really present—and looking on.
She could see in her mind's eye the handsome residence, the carriages, the guests, the feast, the merriment, the ceremony—all.
Telepathically and psychologically she received impressions of the private car and of the joyous journey they were going to take.
The papers had stated that they would spend their honeymoon in Japan.
Their honeymoon!
Her Lester!
And Mrs. Gerald was so attractive.
She could see her now—the new Mrs. Kane—the only Mrs. Kane that ever was, lying in his arms.
He had held her so once.
He had loved her.
Yes, he had!
There was a solid lump in her throat as she thought of this.
Oh, dear!
She sighed to herself, and clasped her hands forcefully; but it did no good. She was just as miserable as before.
When the day was over she was actually relieved; anyway, the deed was done and nothing could change it.
Vesta was sympathetically aware of what was happening, but kept silent. She too had seen the report in the newspaper.
When the first and second day after had passed Jennie was much calmer mentally, for now she was face to face with the inevitable. But it was weeks before the sharp pain dulled to the old familiar ache.
Then there were months before they would be back again, though, of course, that made no difference now.
Only Japan seemed so far off, and somehow she had liked the thought that Lester was near her—somewhere in the city.
The spring and summer passed, and now it was early in October.
One chilly day Vesta came home from school complaining of a headache.
When Jennie had given her hot milk—a favorite remedy of her mother's—and had advised a cold towel for the back of her head, Vesta went to her room and lay down.
The following morning she had a slight fever.
This lingered while the local physician, Dr. Emory, treated her tentatively, suspecting that it might be typhoid, of which there were several cases in the village.
This doctor told Jennie that Vesta was probably strong enough constitutionally to shake it off, but it might be that she would have a severe siege.
Mistrusting her own skill in so delicate a situation, Jennie sent to Chicago for a trained nurse, and then began a period of watchfulness which was a combination of fear, longing, hope, and courage.
Now there could be no doubt; the disease was typhoid.
Jennie hesitated about communicating with Lester, who was supposed to be in New York; the papers had said that he intended to spend the winter there.
But when the doctor, after watching the case for a week, pronounced it severe, she thought she ought to write anyhow, for no one could tell what would happen.
Lester had been so fond of Vesta.
He would probably want to know.
The letter sent to him did not reach him, for at the time it arrived he was on his way to the West Indies.
Jennie was compelled to watch alone by Vesta's sick-bed, for although sympathetic neighbors, realizing the pathos of the situation were attentive, they could not supply the spiritual consolation which only those who truly love us can give.
There was a period when Vesta appeared to be rallying, and both the physician and the nurse were hopeful; but afterward she became weaker.