as they should.

By this time, long before this indeed, my grandparents knew all about
Anthony, and were reconciled to the idea of my marrying a Cardew.
Indeed, there had never been anything against my Anthony, for he was one
of those whom everybody loved and admired. But the shadowy barrier was
down, and they had rejoiced that I was to marry the man who had been
instrumental in bringing Luke home after all those years. My grandmother
said even that she was glad there had been no attachment of the sort
between me and Theobald, since she had no liking for a marriage of first
cousins.

By this time also we had Miss Travers' portrait, and she and Theobald
were engaged. She was a very sweet-looking girl, and so much prettier
than I, having delicate little features and beautiful brown eyes and red
lips, that I was not surprised Theobald had forgotten his old fancy for
me.

She was coming home in the summer and was to stay at Aghadoe, and
Theobald was to follow her in the autumn and they were to be married. My
grandmother was rather nervous about the prospect of receiving her
alone.

"For, of course, you will be on your travels, Bawn," she said; "and
although Luke and Mary will be at Castle Clody, it will not be the same
thing as if they were here. But I must love her, seeing that she will be
Theobald's wife, and, please God, the mother of the heir--that is, after
Luke and Theobald, of course."

I was glad my godmother was not there to hear, lest it should hurt her,
for she loved children and ought to have been the mother of a houseful
of them.

Now that my expectation was to be fulfilled within a few days I became
oddly frightened of it. Supposing he found that he did not love me after
all, that he had been misled by a fancied resemblance in me to the
miniature! Supposing, supposing ... I put away thoughts of calamity from
me with both hands. God was too good to let anything happen to him now.

I was so fidgety and restless that I felt I worried the old couple. I
could settle to nothing. I could not read, although I had always been a
greedy reader. I was living my own love-story too keenly to be put off
with imaginary ones. Music held me for a little while; but through it I
was listening--listening for his coming, or for the telegram that should
announce the arrival of his boat at Southampton. I used to look across
at the lighted table by the fire where my grandparents played cribbage
night after night, and wonder