"Oh, Miss!" exclaimed Jane. "Not wear that beautiful bookey, as Sir
Murray sent?"

Marion made no answer, but quietly arranged the bunch of forget-me-nots,
culled the previous day in the fen, and utterly regardless of her
cousin's words, pinned them on her breast, with a sad smile. Then,
turning to Ada, she said, gaily: "You must have that bouquet, Ada."

"But there's ever so many more downstairs, miss, on purpose for the
bridesmaids," said Jane, excitedly. And then she raised her hands, as
if mutely exclaiming, "What obstinacy!" as she saw Ada take the bouquet
and hold it, gazing curiously at Marion's pale, sweet face, and then
glancing at the little blue flowers upon her breast.

Marion interpreted her looks, and leaning forward, kissed her tenderly.

"Don't grudge me that little satisfaction, dear," she said. "You see
how I am this morning. Are you not satisfied with the way in which I
have taken your advice to heart?"

"Oh, yes--yes, dear," exclaimed Ada, clinging to her; "but was this
wise?" And she pointed with Sir Murray's bouquet to the simple marsh
flowers.

"Wise!" said Marion, "perhaps not; but I placed them there _in
memoriam_. Should we forget the dead?"

"There, do pray, for goodness gracious' sake, Miss, mind what you're a
doing! You're cramming Miss Marion's veil all to nothing, and I know
you'll be sorry for it after."

"Jane's right," said Ada, merrily. "I won't `cram' you any more. Come,
dear, there's uncle going out of his wits because we're so long. He
won't be happy till the knot is tied. I know he's afraid that Sir
Murray will repent at the eleventh hour, aren't you, uncle?" she
continued, as, on opening the door, she found the anxious father on the
landing.

"Come, my dears--come, my dears!" he cried; and then, "Heaven bless you,
my darling!"

"Ah--ah! mustn't touch! Oh, sir, please don't!" exclaimed Ada and Jane
in a breath; for the father was about to clasp his child to his breast.

"There! Bless my soul, I forgot!" exclaimed the rector; and, handing
Marion down, in a few minutes more the party were walking across the
lawn to the gate in the great hedge, which opened upon the churchyard,
where they were saluted by a volley of cheers--heartiest of the hearty;
cheers such as had saluted Sir Murray Gernon and his friends, when, a
quarter of an hour before, his barouche and four had come along the
road, dashed up to the gate, and, proud and elate, the bridegroom had
str