ping on Rose's bosom.

CHAPTER IV.

Never had the bells of Abbeyweld, within the memory of living
man--within the memory of old Mrs. Myles herself, and _she_ was the
oldest living woman in the parish--rung so merry a peal as on the
morning that Helen Marsh was married to the handsome and Honourable
Mr. Ivers. He was young as well as handsome--honourable both by
name and nature--rich in possession and expectancy. On his part it
was purely and entirely what is called a "love match"--one of the
strangest of all strange things perpetrated by a young man of rank and
fashion. His wealth and position in society enabled him to select for
himself; and he did so, of course, to the disappointment of as many,
or perhaps a greater number of mothers than daughters, inasmuch as
it is the former whose speculations are the deepest laid and most
dangerous in arts matrimonial.

Every body was astonished. Mrs. Howard--Helen's "kind friend"--Mrs.
Howard, little short of distracted for three weeks at the very least,
did nothing but exclaim, "Who would have thought it!" "Who, indeed!"
was the reply, in various tones of sympathy, envy, and surprise.
Poor Mrs. Howard, to the day of her death, never suffered another
portionless beauty to enter her doors while even the shadow of an
eldest son rested on its threshold. Mrs. Myles was of course in an
ecstacy of delight; her prophecy was fulfilled. Helen, _her_ Helen,
was the honourable wife of a doubly honourable man. What triumphant
glances did she cast over the railings of the communion-table at Mr.
Stokes--with what an air she marched down the aisle--how patronising
and condescending was her manner to those neighbours whom she
considered her inferiors--how bitterly did she lament that the
Honourable Mr. Ivers would not have any one to breakfast with them but
Mr. Stokes--and how surpassingly, though silently, angry was she with
Mr. Stokes for not glorying with her when the bride and bridegroom
drove off in their "own carriage," leaving her in a state of prideful
excitement, and Rose Dillon in a flood of tears.

"Well, sir!" exclaimed the old lady--"well, sir, you see it _has_
turned out exactly as I said it would; there's station--there's
happiness. Why, sir, if his brother dies without children, his own
valet told me, Mr. Ivers would be a lord and Helen a lady. Didn't she
look beautiful! Now, please, reverend sir, do speak, didn't she look
beautiful?"

"She did."

"Ah! it's a gre