her silent handmaids were surprised out of their ordinary propriety by her appearance. She waved away, with an impatient gesture of her hand, the mirror that they brought; and, saying she wished to he alone, flung herself on a seat.
"I know not," exclaimed she, "why I should feel this depression and regret. Does not this marriage ensure Norbourne all that life can desire—wealth, rank, and security? I wedded, as I thought, for love, faith, and happiness; and what was the end? Years of bitter fear and doubt. Dishonour has stood for ever, a spectre, viewless, but dreaded, at my side. That ghost is now laid for ever; why, then, am I sad?"
Her own heart told her why. Years had passed since, with a burning cheek and a beating heart she had knelt by the side of Norbourne's father, and arisen from before the priest and the crucifix, his bride. She thought what a world of sweet emotion sent the light to her eyes, and the colour to her blush, as they wandered together beneath the
