eyes (of a light brown) that
I ever saw in the countenance of a man. His smile is rare and sweet; his
manner, perfectly quiet and retiring, has yet a latent persuasiveness in
it which is (to women) irresistibly winning. He just halts a little in
his walk, from the effect of an injury received in past years, when he
was a soldier serving in India, and he carries a thick bamboo cane,
with a curious crutch handle (an old favorite), to help himself along
whenever he gets on his feet, in doors or out. With this one little
drawback (if it is a drawback), there is nothing infirm or old or
awkward about him; his slight limp when he walks has (perhaps to my
partial eyes) a certain quaint grace of its own, which is pleasanter to
see than the unrestrained activity of other men. And last and best
of all, I love him! I love him! I love him! And there is an end of my
portrait of my husband on our wedding-day.

The glass has told me all I want to know. We leave the vestry at last.

The sky, cloudy since the morning, has darkened while we have been
in the church, and the rain is beginning to fall heavily. The idlers
outside stare at us grimly under their umbrellas as we pass through
their ranks and hasten into our carriage. No cheering; no sunshine; no
flowers strewn in our path; no grand breakfast; no genial speeches; no
bridesmaids; no fathers or mother's blessing. A dreary wedding--there
is no denying it--and (if Aunt Starkweather is right) a bad beginning as
well!

A _coup_ has been reserved for us at the railway station. The attentive
porter, on the look-out for his fee pulls down the blinds over the side
windows of the carriage, and shuts out all prying eyes in that way.
After what seems to be an interminable delay the train starts. My
husband winds his arm round me. "At last!" he whispers, with love in
his eyes that no words can utter, and presses me to him gently. My arm
steals round his neck; my eyes answer his eyes. Our lips meet in the
first long, lingering kiss of our married life.

Oh, what recollections of that journey rise in me as I write! Let me dry
my eyes, and shut up my paper for the day.

CHAPTER II. THE BRIDE'S THOUGHTS.

WE had been traveling for a little more than an hour when a change
passed insensibly over us both.

Still sitting close together, with my hand in his, with my head on
his shoulder, little by little we fell insensibly into silence. Had we
already exhausted the narrow yet eloquent voca