how could he hope to
succeed? All this he saw clearly enough, but the difficulty still
remained. He strove hard to conquer, but evil prevailed. "Forgive as you
would be forgiven" rang continually in his ears, but he did not, could
not, forgive. He laid down, but not to sleep, and the pale moon shone
calmly and peacefully in upon him, as if mocking his disquietude. At
length he threw the painful subject from him, and sank into an uneasy
slumber.

He awoke, next morning, with the sun beaming brightly in at the window.
But dark clouds gathered round him; gloomy doubts as to his fitness for
the office he had taken, and sorrow at the impossibility of his
forgiving Louis. "Forgive as you would be forgiven," and again the last
night's struggle was renewed, and even when they started for the church
he had not conquered.

Isabel saw how it was, and this was the bitter drop in her cup of
happiness. Alas! in this world when is it unalloyed?

A burst of music filled the church as the bridal party entered, and very
lovely looked the bride, surrounded by her three little bridesmaids,
while in the background stood a fourth, the merry Lucy. Bob and three
youthful Arlington cousins were groomsmen, and Everard, to use Lucy's
own words, was the very _beau ideal_ of what a bridegroom should be, in
fact "perfect."

The sun shone with almost dazzling splendor on the group, which Emily
pronounced "a good omen," and again the organ pealed forth its joyous
strains as they left the church, and gaily rang the marriage bells.

"Everard," said Isabel, when they were in the library awaiting the
arrival of the others, "write that letter now; I know you can, for you
would not look so happy if you felt as you did last night."

"I can write it truthfully now," he replied, smiling at her earnestness.
And then, with his bride bending over his shoulder, Everard wrote such a
note as only _he_ could write, expressing their entire forgiveness, and
made Isabel take the pen and write "Isabel Arlington" under his
signature.

The others, coming in, insisted upon knowing the subject of their very
important correspondence, but Everard pocketed the letter and refused to
satisfy their curiosity.

The breakfast was but a dull affair, notwithstanding the exuberant
spirits of the young groomsmen. The parents knew that they were parting
with their only son, and that it would be years before they would see
him again; and the son, amid his happiness, remembered