t
shall be shining still. God bless my little wife."

CHAPTER XII.

WEDDING.

Sylvia was awakened on her wedding morning by a curious choking sound,
and starting up found Prue crying over her as if her heart were broken.

"What has happened? Is Geoffrey ill? Is all the silver stolen? Can't the
Bishop come?" she asked, wondering what calamity could move her sister
to tears at such a busy time.

Prue took Sylvia in her arms, and rocking to and fro as if she were
still a baby, poured forth a stream of words and tears together.

"Nothing has happened; I came to call you, and broke down because it was
the last time I should do it. I've been awake all night, thinking of you
and all you've been to me since I took you in my arms nineteen years
ago, and said you should be mine. My little Sylvia, I've been neglectful
of so many things, and now I see them all; I've fretted you with my
ways, and haven't been patient enough with yours; I've been selfish even
about your wedding, and it won't be as you like it; you'll reproach me
in your heart, and I shall hate myself for it when you are gone never to
be my care and comfort any more. And--oh, my dear, my dear, what shall I
do without you?"

This unexpected demonstration from her prosaic sister touched Sylvia
more than the most sentimental lamentations from another. It brought to
mind all the past devotion, the future solitude of Prue's life, and she
clung about her neck tearless but very tender.

"I never shall reproach you, never cease to love and thank you for all
you've been to me, my dear old girl. You mustn't grieve over me, or
think I shall forget you, for you never shall be forsaken; and very soon
I shall be back, almost as much your Sylvia as ever. Mark will live on
one side, I shall live on the other, and we'll be merry and cosy
together. And who knows but when we are both out of your way you will
learn to think of yourself and marry also."

At this Prue began to laugh hysterically, and exclaimed, with more than
her usual incoherency--

"I must tell you, it was so very odd! I didn't mean to do so, because
you children would tease me; but now I will to make you laugh, for it's
a bad omen to cry over a bride, they say. My dear, that gouty Mr.
MacGregor, when I went in with some of my nice broth last week (Hugh
slops so, and he's such a fidget, I took it myself), after he had eaten
every drop before my eyes, wiped his mouth and asked me to marry him."

"And