the buggy won’t hold three. If you are good you shall be the first to congratulate me when I come home to-night." And, almost before I knew it, the two had taken their seats in the buggy that was waiting at the door. "Good-by," cried Mary, waving her hand from the back; "wish me much joy—of my ride."
I tried to do so, but the words would n’t come. I could only wave my hand in response, and rush sobbing into the house.
Of that day, and its long hours of alternate remorse and anxiety, I cannot trust myself to speak. Let me come at once to the time when, seated alone in my lamp-lighted room, I waited and watched for the token of their return which Mary had promised me. It came in the shape of Mary herself, who, wrapped in her long cloak, and with her beautiful face aglow with blushes, came stealing into the house just as I was beginning to despair.
A strain of wild music from the hotel porch, where they were having a dance, entered with her, producing such a weird effect upon my fancy that I was not at all surprised when, in flinging off her cloak, she displayed garments of bridal white and a head crowned with snowy roses.
"Oh, Mary!" I cried, bursting into tears; "you are then"
"Mrs. Henry Clavering, at your service. I’m a bride, Auntie."
"Without a bridal," I murmured, taking her passionately into my embrace.
She was not insensible to my emotion. Nestling close to me, she gave herself up for one wild moment to a genuine burst of tears, saying between her sobs all manner of tender things; telling me how she loved me,
