small respect when living. We felt her brightening influence, but
Fanny sulked, feeling dethroned.

Ben Pickersgill Somers and Veronica Morgeson were "published."
Contrary to the usual custom, Verry went to hear her own banns read
at the church. She must do all she could, she told me, to realize that
she was to be married; had I any thoughts about it, with which I might
aid her? She thought it strange that people should marry, and could
not decide whether it was the sublimest or the most inglorious act of
one's life. I begged her to think about what she should wear--the time
was passing. Father gave me so small a sum for the occasion, I had
little opportunity for the splendid; but I purchased what Veronica
wanted for a dress, and superintended the making of it--black lace
over lavender-colored silk. She said no more about it; but I observed
that she put in order all her possessions, as if she were going to
undertake a long and uncertain journey. Every box and drawer was
arranged. All her clothes were repaired, refolded, and laid away;
every article was refreshed by a turn or shake-up. She made her room a
miracle of cleanliness. What she called rubbish she destroyed--her old
papers, things with chipped edges, or those that were defaced by wear.
She went once to Milford in the time, and bought a purple Angola rug,
which she put before her arm-chair, and two small silver cups, with
covers; in one was a perfume which Ben liked, the other was empty.
Her favorite blank-books were laid on a shelf, and the table, with its
inkstand and portfolio, was pushed against the wall. The last ornament
which she added to her room was a beautifully woven mat of evergreens,
with which she concealed the picture of the avenue and the nameless
man. After it was done, she inhabited my room, appearing to feel at
home, and glad to have me with her. As the time drew near, she grew
silent, and did not play at all. Temperance watched her with anxiety.
"If ever she can have one of those nervous spells again she will have
one now," she said. "Don't let her dream. I am turning myself inside
out to keep up her appetite."

"Do you ever feel worried about _me_, Tempy?"

"Lord 'a marcy! you great, strong thing, why should I? May be you do
want a little praise. I never saw anybody get along as well as you do,
nowadays; you have altered very much; I never would have believed it."

"What _was_ the trouble with me?"

"_I_ always stuck up for you, gracious