into my hand, and could not help admiring the pure,
lustrous, glossy beauty of them. I passed my fingers over them softly.
There was something in the sight of them that moved me, as if they were
fragments of the shining garments of some vision, which in times gone
by, when I was much younger, had now and then floated before my fancy. I
did not know any one lovely enough to wear raiment of glistening white
like these, unless--unless--. A passing glimpse of the pure white face,
and glossy hair, and deep gray eyes of my Sark patient flashed across
me.

"They are patterns for Julia's wedding-dress," said my mother, in a low,
tender voice.

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.

TRUE TO BOTH.

"For Julia!" I repeated, the treacherous vision fading away
instantaneously. "Oh, yes! I understand. They are very beautiful--very
beautiful indeed."

"Which do you like most?" asked Julia, in a whisper, as she leaned
against my shoulder.

"I like them all," I said. "There is scarcely any difference among them
that I can see."

"No difference!" she exclaimed. "That is so like a man! Why, they are as
different as can be. Look here, this one is only five shillings a yard,
and that is twelve. Isn't that a difference?"

"A very great one," I replied. "But do you think you will look well in
white, my dear Julia? You never do wear white."

"A bride cannot wear any thing but white," she said, angrily. "I
declare, Martin, you would not mind if I looked a perfect fright."

"But I should mind very much," I urged, putting my arm around her; "for
you will be my wife then, Julia."

She smiled almost for the first time that afternoon, for her mind had
been full of the furniture, and too burdened for happiness. But now she
looked happy.

"You can be as nice and good as any one, when you like," she said,
gently.

"I shall always be nice and good when we are married," I answered, with
a laugh. "You are not afraid of venturing, are you, Julia?"

"Not the least in the world," she said. "I know you, Martin, and I can
trust you implicitly."

My heart ached at the words, so softly and warmly spoken. But I laughed
again--at myself this time, not at her. Why should she not trust me? I
would be as true as steel to her. I loved no one better, and I would
take care not to love any one. My word, my honor, my troth, were all
plighted to her. Only a scoundrel and a fool would be unfaithful to an
engagement like ours.

We walked home together, we thre