66

some courting couple," said she, very tartly. I have just been driven from the Refuge, because Mr. Weston chose to arrive. As for these two, they have had enough. Been here ever since I left, you say? That's two hours. I shall go in, whether you will or not."

Somewhat under protest, I followed her. Ralph was in my arm-chair, and Agnes was seated on a very low stool beside him. She had been crying, but now she smiled and was very rosy.

"Leave the Refuge!" said my sister, with arch innocence: "then where is she going, sir?"

He made a fine boggle of an answer, which was intended to embrace excuses and reasons for his own haste. "If she'd said 'Yes,' when I asked her first, I should have named a day in early spring," he stammered; "and why shouldn't it be now as if it had never been? She's looking fagged and white, and the change of scene 'Il do her good. And the Meadow Farm's quite ready for its mistress. And what things does she 'I spoke to you about Canada, last night, want? Can't she get them when she's sir," he began with some hesitation. My there? Only she says you won't like such friend starts next month, and we hope to be a short notice." ready to join him - Agnes and I!"*

"Tell them, Ralph," said she.

66

66

66

My uncle has given permission," sheered," said Ruth drily. whispered.

"And, of course, he thinks we encouraged you!" said Ruth, severely.

No, he doesn't!" she answered, warmly. "I told him all about it."

66

Was this some secret relenting some hidden joy that God had given one faithful friend to the son whom he had deserted?

"Then let me wish you happiness, my dear," I said, laying my hand on the brown head, bowed low enough in this moment of womanly triumph; "then let me wish you all peace and happiness after your trial and sorrow the sweet sunshine after the rain!" Ralph Herbert turned to my sister. "You say nothing," he said, in a tone of sorrowful reproach.

66

Yes, I do," she answered, more kindly than she had spoken before, and laying her hand gently upon his. "I don't say, May she never regret this day! for she never will—but I pray that on your dying bed you may remember it with thanksgiving,

"Oh, I am not the person to be consid“You'd better not consult my pleasure, or I shall say I don't like any notice at all!"

66

Mr. Weston took the little joke in good part, and laughed heartily. You're right, Miss Garrett," he answered, quite jovially. "I should not like her to give me notice." Should you not?" queried Ruth.

66

66

66

Ah,

I have heard some people are never so happy as when they are miserable, and I suppose that is why they rush into matrimony, although the single state is most conducive to happiness.'

Mr. Weston reddened a little and laughed again. "Don't laugh at a poor fellow for saying the grapes were sour when they seemed out of his reach," said he. "I always pitied that fox in the fable."

66

Well, he was pitiable," rejoined my sister; "but if he had gained the grapes and then praised them, I should have told him he was a coward before."

66

When he has gained the grapes, he is so fortunate that he can afford to be called anything," said the young man, good-humouredly.

The simple kindly farmer was far further in Ruth's good graces than the polished son of the Great Farm. She actually went with him to the Refuge, and had a long conversation with Alice and her grandfather, for Ewen had returned to London that morning with Mr. Herbert. And when Ruth returned, she brought the news that the old adage that one wedding makes another was fulfilled in this case, and that there would be two marriages at St. Cross, while the primroses were out in the churchyard.

And for a whole month I was a quiet

shadow in the background- a person with no valuable opinions on the subjects in hand-linens, and dresses, and ribbons. I heard that Mr. Weston wished to place in Ruth's hand a considerable sum of money for the disposal of his bride, only Alice

I walked home with her in the twilight, speaking of the arrangements for the morrow. Nobody but those concerned knew what was about to happen. The honest labourers who touched their foreheads as Agnes passed, little dreamed it was a farewell salutation. There was something unspeakably touching in the girl going so brave Agnes was not at the wedding. It was and so lonely from one life to another, not her last day at home. A very sad last day even knowing her own courage and loneliwhen she might not weep nor smile ex-ness, but with the sweet perversity of wocept as her wont - when she must go about mankind, only the more reliant on Ralph's everything as if to-morrow, and the next protection because it was but a cypherday, and the next would be the same. Her all the prouder of him, because there was uncle knew it was her last day in his house, little to be proud about ! he had only said "Very well," when she told him so, and by this silence, she knew to be silent herself.

..

some courting couple," said she, very tartly. I have just been driven from the Refuge, because Mr. Weston chose to arrive. As for these two, they have had enough. Been here ever since I left, you say? That's two hours. I shall go in, whether you will or not."

Somewhat under protest, I followed her. Ralph was in my arm-chair, and Agnes was seated on a very low stool beside him. She had been crying, but now she smiled and was very rosy.

"Tell them, Ralph," said she.

66

'I spoke to you about Canada, last night, sir," he began with some hesitation. "My friend starts next month, and we hope to be ready to join him- Agnes and I!"

66

My uncle has given permission," she whispered.

66

And, of course, he thinks we encouraged you!" said Ruth, severely.

66

No, he doesn't!" she answered, warmly. "I told him all about it."

66

"And you asked his consent?" I queried. I told him all about it," she replied humbly, "and he said I might do as I liked; -I was of age, and he wouldn't hinder me."

Was this some secret relenting -some hidden joy that God had given one faithful friend to the son whom he had deserted?

66

"Leave the Refuge!" said my sister, with arch innocence: "then where is she going, sir?"

He made a fine boggle of an answer, which was intended to embrace excuses and reasons for his own haste. "If she'd said 'Yes,' when I asked her first, I should have named a day in early spring," he stammered; "and why shouldn't it be now as if it had never been? She's looking fagged and white, and the change of scene Il do her good. And the Meadow Farm's quite ready for its mistress. And what things does she want? Can't she get them when she's there? Only she says you won't like such a short notice."

66

66

Oh, I am not the person to be considered," said Ruth drily. 'You'd better not consult my pleasure, or I shall say I don't like any notice at all!"

66

66

Mr. Weston took the little joke in good part, and laughed heartily. You're right, Miss Garrett," he answered, quite jovially. 'I should not like her to give me notice." "Should you not?" queried Ruth. "Ah, I have heard some people are never so happy as when they are miserable, and I suppose that is why they rush into matrimony, although the single state is most conducive to happiness.'

Mr. Weston reddened a little and laughed Then let me wish you happiness, my again. "Don't laugh at a poor fellow for dear," I said, laying my hand on the brown saying the grapes were sour when they head, bowed low enough in this moment of seemed out of his reach," said he. "I alwomanly triumph; "then let me wish you ways pitied that fox in the fable." all peace and happiness after your trial and Well, he was pitiable," rejoined my sissorrow the sweet sunshine after the rain! "ter; "but if he had gained the grapes and Ralph Herbert turned to my sister. "You then praised them, I should have told him he say nothing," he said, in a tone of sorrow- was a coward before." ful reproach.

66

"When he has gained the grapes, he is so fortunate that he can afford to be called anything," said the young man, good-humouredly.

The simple kindly farmer was far further in Ruth's good graces than the polished son of the Great Farm. She actually went with him to the Refuge, and had a long conversation with Alice and her grandfather, for Ewen had returned to London that morning with Mr. Herbert. And when Ruth returned, she brought the news that the old adage that one wedding makes another was fulfilled in this case, and that there would be two marriages at St. Cross, while the primroses were out in the churchyard.

And for a whole month I was a quiet shadow in the background a person with no valuable opinions on the subjects in hand-linens, and dresses, and ribbons. I heard that Mr. Weston wished to place in Ruth's hand a considerable sum of money for the disposal of his bride, only Alice

would not hear of it. She said he must
take her with what she could get herself,
and he said it didn't matter to him, so I
think her bridal attire would have been ex-
ceedingly simple but that Ruth's wedding
gift was the wedding dress. Mr. Weston
was not at all offended because Alice ac-
cepted that. It was a grey silk, rich and
delicate, but suited alike to the bride's
loveliness, and the bridegroom's position.
After all, her wedding came first. The
Herberts' was fixed a single day later.
Ewen arrived the evening before his sister's
marriage, and said Mr. Herbert would not
come until the eve of his own. And Ewen
tried to keep his face bright for his sister's
joy. But all the more it haunted me with
that inexpressible pain which often makes
weddings more sad than funerals, the suf-
fering of Life instead of the peace of Death.
It was a laughing spring morning, and in
homely phrase the village was "alive."
St. Cross was crowded, for the M'Callums
were old residents, and rendered none the
less interesting by the melancholy circum-
stances through which they had so innocently
suffered. When the bridal party stood in
the chancel, I heard an old lady whisper
that it was a "pretty wedding," and I think
she was right. In the immediate circle the
fine old grandfather, the comely bridegroom,
the sweet bride, the little orphan brides-
maids in their fresh muslins, and the grave
handsome groomsman
- all were pleasing
and picturesque after their own fashion.
And, standing behind these, Ruth and Bes-
sie and young Roper did not spoil the scene.
And the background was made up of eager
interested faces, all bright in the sunshine,
which poured in through the clear windows
and brought with it a sweet breath from the
budding trees outside. And then the solemn
service which folds the joy of man in the
sanctity of God, and the happy tears, and
the fond kisses, and the poor trembling
maiden signature in the vestry. And then
the merry bells, telling heath and hamlet
that God has consecrated another home-
and the ride through familiar faces that no-
body sees and the dainty meal that no-
body tastes-and the good-byes-and then
the silence afterwards.

After the morning's excitement I sat listlessly at our window, watching for Ralph Herbert, who was to be our guest for that night. I did not know whether to expect a visit from. Agnes, and I was very pleased when she entered.

"I hear the wedding went off well," she said. "I have written a letter to Alice, that she may receive it in her new home tonight."

For I should have mentioned that this simple country bride had gone straight from her old home to her husband's house, as he could ill spare a long holiday at this time of the year, when his fields needed their master's eye.

"Very thoughtful of you, my dear," I answered; "and what finery have you there?" for she had a small parcel in her hand.

"Only all my trousseau!" she replied, laying a dainty pair of lilac gloves upon the table, and looking up with an arch smile about her lips and pathos in her eyes.

It was quite true. For her honeymoon was to be passed in no luxurious hotel, her home would be no fresh flowery bride-chambers. By nightfall after her wedding she would be in the seaport town whence the American ship sailed. By the next sunset, she would be on the sea- drifting to a new life in a rough settler farm. And so it was an emigrant's outfit and not a bride's, which filled the great boxes that encumbered ou • hall.

She had not been with us many minute before she rose to go.

"Will you not wait to see your cousin?" asked Ruth; "he will be here presently." No," she said, "I must go back. Tell him I left him my love, but I want to stay with my uncle as long as I can. I only left home now because he was out among his men."

I walked home with her in the twilight, speaking of the arrangements for the morrow. Nobody but those concerned knew what was about to happen. The honest labourers who touched their foreheads as Agnes passed, little dreamed it was a farewell salutation. There was something unspeakably touching in the girl going so brave Agnes was not at the wedding. It was and so lonely from one life to another, not her last day at home. A very sad last day even knowing her own courage and loneli-when she might not weep nor smile ex-ness, but with the sweet perversity of wocept as her wont-when she must go about mankind, only the more reliant on Ralph's everything as if to-morrow, and the next protection because it was but a cypher day, and the next would be the same. Her all the prouder of him, because there was andle knew it was her last day in his house, little to be proud about! he had only said "Very well," when she told him so, and by this silence, she knew to be silent herself.

When I shook hands with her at the gate of the Farm, she held my hand a little, and probably thinking this was our last moment

of undisturbed converse, she thanked me

There was a solemnity about the aspect for all that Ruth and I had tried to do for of affairs, which crept over each of us. her-speaking so eagerly and fervently of The very morning was solemn not cloudy, all the past, and yet looking so confidently but with a low-toned steady sun-light, and and quietly into her strange dim future, a cool still air. The shadows on our garthat my heart was strangely stirred. But den plot did not dance, but lay straight she made one omission which pained me. and still. The parlour too, with the In her rapid anxious review of all to whom signs of ordinary life all banished, had she owed any kindness, she never even a conventual air, consistent with bated named Ewen, to whom, especially for voices and silent smiles. But even silent Ralph's sake, she owed so much. And I smiles were lacking. Yet when I thought interrupted her to say of all this day was in Ralph's life, I could 'Nobody has shown you or Ralph more not wonder at his pale grave face, or the than the common kindness of humanity-reddened lightless eyes that told of a sleepexcept young M'Callum. I hope you quite less night. True, he had achieved a great understand what he has done. He deserves happiness - to him, unworthy as he felt thanks." himself, had fallen that good gift which Solomon tells us comes directly from the Lord." But I liked the youth no less because he took his blessing with awe and trembling, nor because he did not prepare to leave his fatherland with a laugh upon his lips. Alone, he might have gone recklessly enough. Going alone, he might have said his native country cast him off, and so turned his face to another shore, and never looked behind. But now that one went

"Understand what he has done?" she echoed. "Thank him? Mr. Garrett, Ewen M'Callum is a saint, and I am only a woman! "

And she turned and obeyed the deep bay of Griff, impatiently awaiting her within the house. I stayed at the gate until she crossed the garden, and fairly closed the house-door behind her. But she never turned her head.

And that was the night before the with him, nothing fearing, he felt tenderly wedding.

CHAPTER XXXII.

A WEDDING WITHOUT BELLS.

OUR breakfast party on the wedding morning was somewhat constrained and silent. Ralph had joined us very late the night before, and we had then no time for conversation, nor did we seem inclined for any when we gathered round the table for our morning meal. We were in our trim for the ceremony, that is to say I wore my neatest tie, and Ruth her best silk dress, for no other attempt at gala attire was possible. The parlour too was "tidied" in Ruth's strictest sense of the word; not a shred of work or writing remained about, and the china bowls and vases were duly filled with fresh primroses and hyacinths. That was the extent of our preparation. But when Phillis brought in our toast and new-laid eggs, I thought by her glance at our visitor that she had a shrewd guess at what was going forward, though she had heard no remark to lead her to such conclusion, and though there was nothing in the refreshments which Ruth had ordered to awaken conjecture. For there could be no sugary wedding breakfast, with cakes, and champagnes, and trifles, but a repast of savoury joints and poultry, substantial enough to carry the young couple to their seaport destination.

for the old place that spared him its best,
and his heart yearned over the very fields
where he had walked and talked with one
so pure and true. I daresay his feeling
was something like that expressed in those
lines of an old song, which I remember
once reading, where one emigrant says to
another—

"'Tis not the future makes me grieve:
But though the past is sad,
I weep my grateful thanks to God
For pleasant times I've had!"

Of course he made one at our little service of family worship. It is our custom to hold that service immediately after breakfast. Ruth and I agreed that it was inconsiderate to summons servants to such a duty before they had taken some refreshment after their early household work. At the risk of being thought a monotonous formalist, I must explain our form of worship. I take our prayers from the book of Common Prayer-first, the general confession of sin, then the prayer for all conditions of men, concluding with the collect for the preceding Sunday, and that is all, except on any special occasion, when I take a special petition from the Litany. For a Scripture portion I read the New Testament lesson for the day. I have often noticed how strangely appropriate these appointed portions seem, and never more so than when, on this 4th of March, I found it my duty to