e as
soon as the happy pair had taken their departure. It was not often that
a wedding took place at Merland church, and this was to be no ordinary
affair. Hours before the time appointed the people from the village and
outlying farms began to assemble. The school children, flower-laden and
excited, had rehearsed their part of throwing flowers in the bride's
path, and had picked them up again; the ringers were having a
preliminary "qu-a-a-art" of the very bad ale sold at the village inn
preparatory to looking over the ropes of the three bells, all that
Merland tower could boast. Sir Murray Gernon's tenants, and the
farmers' daughters, were in an acute state of excitement, and dresses
that had been in preparation for days past were being carefully fitted
on.

"There could not have been a brighter and happier morning for you, my
darling," exclaimed Marion's mother, as she kissed her affectionately,
holding her with the clinging fondness of one about to lose a household
treasure; proud of the position her child was to take, but, now that it
had come to the time, tearful and hard pressed to hide her pain.

"And no bride ever looked better, aunt, I'm sure," said Ada Lee,
merrily, as she adjusted a fold here, and arranged some scrap of lace
there.

"She'd have had to look strange and fine, if she did, mum, that she
would!" exclaimed Jane, handmaiden in ordinary at the rectory, but now
to be promoted to the honourable post of maid to Lady Gernon. Jane had
first entered the room very red of cheek, due to a salute placed thereon
by Mr Gurdon, Sir Murray's gentleman, who had but a few moments before
arrived with the bouquet Jane bore in her hand, and a note. But note
and flowers, and even the impudence of "that Gurdon," were forgotten in
Jane's genuine admiration, as, catching Ada's words, she had delivered
her own opinion.

Till now, though pale, Marion's face had been bright and animated as
that of her cousin, and to have seen the two girls, no one would have
imagined that they had each passed a troubled and almost sleepless
night. The forebodings of the past seemed to have been dismissed, and
Ada, seeing how bright and happy her cousin appeared, forbore even to
hint at last night's tears.

But now came a message from the anxious rector, respecting time, and the
last touches were given to the bridal apparel; when, turning round,
after hastily adjusting her own veil, Ada exclaimed:

"Oh, Marion! Is that wise?"