ication was made by the young lawyer. He felt the strongest
kind of repugnance towards Dewey, and could not gain his own consent to
have any intercourse with him. His position, as an associate with
Judge Bigelow, occasionally brought him in contact with his nephew, who
recognized him always in a respectful manner. But Wallingford held him
ever coldly at a distance.

CHAPTER XI.

The marriage of Delia Floyd was an event in our quiet town. It was
celebrated at the house of her father, in the presence of a large
company, who were invited to witness the ceremony, and take part in
the attendant festivities. The match was regarded generally as a most
desirable one for the young lady; and there was more than one mother
present who envied the good fortune which had given such a son-in-law to
Mrs. Floyd. I heard many snatches of conversation, half aside, in which
marvelous things were related, or suggested, touching the bridegroom's
fortune and the splendid home he had prepared for his bride. He was
looked upon as a prospective millionaire, and imagination pictured Delia
as the jeweled mistress of a palace home. Few seemed to think of any
thing beyond the promised worldly advantage.

"I am glad that your daughter has married so well."

"Let me congratulate you, Squire Floyd, on this splendid match."

"It is not often, Mrs. Floyd, that a mother sees her daughter go forth
into the world with such brilliant prospects."

"You have all that your heart can desire, so far as Delia is concerned,
Mrs. Floyd."

"You are the envy of mothers."

And so I heard the changes rung on all sides of me, and from the lips of
people who might have looked deeper if they had taken the trouble to use
their eyes.

To me, the wedding was full of sad suggestions. It was one of those
social self-sacrifices, as common now as then, in which the victim
goes self-impelled to the altar, and lays upon its consuming fires the
richest dower of womanhood.

I listened to the vows that were made on this occasion, and felt a low
thrill of repulsion as words of such solemn import trembled on the air,
for too well I knew that a union of souls in a true marriage, such as
Delia Floyd might consummate, was impossible here. Could she be happy
in this marriage? I gave to my own question an emphatic "No!" She might
have a gay, brilliant, exciting life; but to that deep peace which is
given to loving hearts, and which, in hours of isolation and loneliness,