was considered

as brought downthe proud Meltons, who would "only visit county families, and never asked

a soul out of the town to their house! -it cuts both ways," quoth the Darleyites, complacently.

The spring came on; thrushes began to sing in the mild evenings, and Gabriel's daily gift was a handful of violets—the primroses were coming, he said, and weeks and days began to be reckoned. Then a fear and vague sorrow began to grow on Gertrude—sorrow for leaving her brother and her old home, and fear lest she should fail in her new life, and not make Gabriel happy; and vain and eager longing for her mother's approval and love. She was almost miserable when he was not with her. But when he came, all doubt

I

and fear vanished, swallowed up in his great love.

In March, Mrs. Graham went with them to London, to choose the carpets, and the chintz, and the piano, and all the dainty little elegancies with which Gabriel wished to surround his wife, in their home together.

A few friends were in London, and to these he was introduced. Gertrude was so proud to see him make his way everywhere so quickly, without an effort, -so puzzled to think what it was in her, that made her to be loved so well and truly.

Miss Wentworth and Mrs. Graham enjoyed themselves thoroughly-settling the furniture, hiring the servants, and ordering Gabriel about. Gertrude never went to the Vicarage, or made any

arrangement for the future; she was content to leave all to them-content to dwell quietly in the glorious region of hope and anticipation she shared with but one other; and so in the genial spring weather the time went on, new thoughts and feelings coming with every flower that bloomed-not like them to die, but to blossom in the sunshine of his love for ever.

And now it is the evening of an April day of alternate showers and sunshine. The drawing-room at Melton is gay with bright faces, and musical with happy voices and laughter. William is laughing, and talking too, to the uncles and aunts, and cousins and friends assembled, and no one would guess what a heavy weight lies on his heart, or how he dreads the

morrow, which is to take from him his only sister, to give her to be the light and happiness of another home. He often looks round, to dwell on her sweet face while yet he may, and then he misses her she has crept away to the library, to escape from the gaiety and preparations, for she is frightened, and Gabriel is not there to support her, so she is crying, and longing-oh! how fervently for her mother's kiss, and whisper of approval of him whose influence is over her, soul and body, whose master-mind rules her every thought, in whose life, hers is entwined for evermore.

She is leaning her forehead on the open window-sill, and the hot tears are falling quietly from her eyes, when a gentle hand is on her bended head, and a loving voice in her ear, asks her,

"Are you so very unhappy, then, Gertrude?" Ah! no, how can she be, with his eyes on hers, her hand clasped in his, her head on his shoulder-how secure there! They remain silent for a long while, and then they go out into the warm, soft, balmy spring air, where the birds are singing, and the buds and blossoms bursting into their joyous life. The sky is quite clear now, and in the glowing west the sun is sinking; its dying light illumines Gertrude's white dress, as, clinging close to her bridegroom's arm, they pace the green turf walk. The evensong of the birds in the overshadowing trees, the distant cry of the rooks, and the soft chime of the church bells, calm her fluttering heart; and, more than all, the tale he tells her,—how her mother had seen what was in his heart,