shown by his irritable looks as his hand grasped the door with a half intention to leave her where she was.
Mrs. Claremont smiled as she met her daughter at breakfast, but her thoughts were turned into a channel too serious for much demonstration of levity. When she arose, she approached Rosalind, and throwing her arms around her, said,—"And is this the last Sabbath morning on which I can call you exclusively my own?"
A sudden revulsion of feeling swept over Rosalind at these words, and it was difficult for her to restrain the fast coming tears. Thoughts of her father and the reflection that she was so soon to part with the freedom and independence of girlhood, tinged her anticipations with a sort of mournful pleasure. With a thoughtful and reverent air the remainder of the day was chiefly devoted to her mother whose side she scarcely left. At church the sound of the music thrilled her with unusual fervor as if it heralded the advent of a new life whose record would be pure or sullied as she cultivated in her own soul those graces which should make it worthy the love of him who had chosen her for his companion through the storm and sunshine of their earthly career, and most ardently she prayed for strength.
The wedding day at length arrived, the day which for its tender and sacred associations, was scarcely less of interest to Mrs. Claremont than to the prospective bride. It was a day of her own selection, the anniversary of her marriage twenty-two years
