the bridal carriage was summoned,
a singular thing happened. Another bridal carriage drew up from the
opposite side, and a newly wedded pair came forth from the portal of the
Methodist church. Both parties stopped, face to face, divided only by
the narrow street. Mrs. Lawrie first noticed the flushed cheeks of the
other bride, her white dress, rather showy than elegant, and the heavy
gold ornaments she wore. Then she turned to the bridegroom. He was tall
and well-formed, dressed like a gentleman, but like one who is not
yet unconscious of his dress, and had the air of a man accustomed to
exercise some authority.

She saw his face, and instantly all other faces disappeared. From the
opposite brink of a tremendous gulf she looked into his eyes, and their
blended ray of love and despair pierced her to the heart.

There was a roaring in her ears, followed a long sighing sound, like
that of the wind on some homeless waste; she leaned more heavily on her
husband's arm, leaned against his shoulder, slid slowly down into his
supporting clasp, and knew no more.

"She's paying for her mock composure, after all," said the matrons.

"It must have been a great effort."

III.

Ten years afterwards, Mrs. Lawrie went on board a steamer at
Southampton, bound for New York. She was travelling alone, having been
called suddenly from Europe by the approaching death of her aged father.
For two or three days after sailing, the thick, rainy spring weather
kept all below, except a few hardy gentlemen who crowded together on the
lee of the smoke-stack, and kept up a stubborn cheerfulness on a very
small capital of comfort. There were few cabin-passengers on board, but
the usual crowd of emigrants in the steerage.

Mrs. Lawrie's face had grown calmer and colder during these years. There
was yet no gray in her hair, no wrinkles about her clear eyes; each
feature appeared to be the same, but the pale, monotonous color
which had replaced the warm bloom of her youth, gave them a different
character. The gracious dignity of her manner, the mellow tones of her
voice, still expressed her unchanging goodness, yet those who met her
were sure to feel, in some inexplicable way, that to be good is not
always to be happy. Perhaps, indeed, her manner was older than her face
and form: she still attracted the interest of men, but with a certain
doubt and reserve.

Certain it is that when she made her appearance on deck, glad of the
blue sky an