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Chapter II

Sunnydowns was roused to a pitch of unusual excitement on the occasion of the ‘happy event’, which was to unite in holy bonds the beautiful Miss Mary, second daughter of that highly esteemed and well-to-do resident, John Seymour, Esq., retired barrister, to the handsome and popular young swell, Captain Albert de Courcy Fitzroy, of Woodlands, M.P.C., and the fortunate owner of one of the finest runs in the district, with fifty thousand sheep upon it.

The engagement of the happy pair had been a rather long-standing one, and had been much talked about. When first publicly announced, some two years previously, the fiancée had only lately ‘come out’, and the gallant suitor had not yet won his spurs in the volunteer cavalry, or acquired any political distinction in the Provincial Council, or even grown a moustache.

Old Mr Seymour, who was wise and cautious, considered that, under the circumstances, a delay would be advisable; he pronounced his lovely child ‘o'er young to marry yet;’ while the fair Mary, on her part, had shown no inclination whatever to hurry the event.

She was a great favourite; petted at home, admired abroad, and as much spoiled as her amiable disposition would admit of.

Her father doted upon her, and her staid and sensible sister Alice, who was older by some six years, had watched over her with a mother's care, and indulged her with all a mother's weakness.

Concerning the marriage only one opinion had been expressed, and that was eminently favourable to those most concerned, and generally acceptable to the outside world. The young lady being an object of local pride and admiration, the disposal of her hand was deemed a matter of public interest, and consequently all Sunnydowns turned out to witness the wedding.

The bridegroom was admitted by all the ladies—who are considered the best judges on such matters—to be an excellent parti; he had, indeed, everything in his favour—youth, health, and position; a good figure, with a jovial temper; and when to these manifold blessings were added a four-in-hand drag, a scarlet uniform with gold buttons, and a run with fifty thousand sheep upon it: it would be difficult to conceive how anything more could be expected from imperfect humanity.

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Truly, the voice of detraction had not altogether spared him, and certain rumours had obtained credit concerning his character and antecedents, which were not to his advantage; but these were attributed to the envy and malice of his fellowmen.

The ladies were all on his side; they had declared, with one voice, from the first day upon which he came into a fortune, that he was a delightful and most estimable gentleman, and fit to marry anybody's daughter. All discriminating mothers, being unanimous on that point, had acted with the tact that distinguishes the fair sex in these matters, and had been careful to remove any obstacles that might stand in the way of such a desirable consummation.

Indeed, the matrimonial future of this flourishing young squatter had engaged no ordinary amount of attention in the little coterie, which assumed to represent the aristocracy of the province.

Several fashionable matrons, belonging to the ‘upper ten’, had taken it up, and had frequently been overheard to express a decided intention of saving their favourite from the clutches of any ‘designing creature’, and not to rest contented until they could see him suitably ‘settled in life’.

Yet notwithstanding all these laudable endeavours, ‘dear Bertie’ had disappointed his well-wishers. He had been headstrong, and intent upon following his own misguided inclinations; he had preferred beauty to (so-called) position, and had gone outside of the select fold. For the Seymours, although of excellent family connections, and in easy circumstances, had lived in a quiet and secluded way, and had never been recognised among ‘the set’, nor had they indeed ever displayed the slightest ambition to be raised to that honour.

The ceremony was, therefore, more of local interest than a fashionable event, and was looked upon with rather a cold eye by the self-elected ‘leaders of society’.

It proved a great success nevertheless.

From an early hour on the previous morning Mr Richard Raleigh had been in attendance at Glenmoor, by command of Miss Alice Seymour, the mistress of the ceremonies, who wanted him to assist at decorating the table, and to make himself generally useful. ‘The philosopher’—as he was sometimes called—had become very intimate with the Seymours. During the twelvemonth he had resided at Sunnydowns he had made great strides into the affections of this amiable family; he had taken the vacant place of his friend Dr Valentine, and had been recognised as l'ami de la maison. Miss Seymour had even promoted him to a sort of bloodless relationship, and had frequently been heard to address him as ‘dear cos’. It had page 15 been maliciously said that he had won the old man by losing to him at chess; and that he was making up to the eldest daughter for the sake of her money, which would have been a profitless task, considering that she had no fortune. But in this case scandal shot wide of the mark, for the tie which bound them together was one that is rarely recognised, or even understood, by a selfish and gossiping world—it was Friendship.

Mr Seymour had found in the newcomer a congenial spirit; Alice admired him as an artist, and liked him as a man, and she was a young person who never sought to conceal her thoughts, or to stifle her feelings; while even with the bride elect he was held in high favour—too much so to please the jealous eye of her gallant intended, between whom and the unpretentious clerk of the court no very cordial relations existed.

The captain was of the heavy swell type, sound but not brilliant; possessing substantial attractions in the way of a well-filled purse and stout limbs, but deficient in ideas. He had on several occasions expressed himself in rather injured tones to his betrothed about the fuss which was made over such an insignificant personage as a mere clerk, and also intimated that people were surprised, and talked about the extraordinary intimacy which this individual had acquired in the family.

These remarks were not well received. Miss May pouted and ridiculed the idea; her out-spoken sister gave him ‘a piece of her mind;’ and the quiet Mr Seymour, the first time the subject was mentioned in his presence, administered a rebuke which was not likely to be forgotten.

The abashed lover had to beat a precipitate retreat, swallow his resentment as best he could, and bear with his despised rival for the time being, reserving to himself the fixed intention of altering the condition of things later on, after the knot was tied, and when he could intimate his wishes, no longer as a supplicant, but as a master.

Raleigh, on his arrival at Glenmoor, found the house in a state of great bustle and excitement. The place was turned inside out; there was a loud noise of trampling of feet, while from the kitchen there issued strange hissing sounds and savoury odours. The furniture was being dragged about, and loads of flowers and evergreens brought in; hangings pulled down and decorations fixed up; the men-folk were hurried and worried, while the ladies fluttered about, and ordered all things; for at such times the feminine element is in the ascendant. A wedding is a woman's triumph, and the opposite sex is made to feel its inferiority. Even poor Mr Seymour, who so loved his page 16 ease and quiet, was not spared on the occasion, but turned out of his snug little study, and left to roam about the verandah, with pipe and smoking-cap, in a disconsolate sort of way.

In the shed and outhouses more truculent work was going on; deeds of darkness, in which a score of gentle pigeons had been immolated.

The fatted calf—which in the present case was a lamb—had already been slain, and was hanging to a rafter—a bleeding sacrifice to Hymen; while from the frantic screeches and cackling that resounded from the poultry yard, it might be surmised that the massacre was extending in that direction.

There had been numerous offers of assistance, and many willing hands were at work.

First a couple of poor relations, who seemed to have sprung into existence for this particular occasion, were making themselves conspicuous.

Also Mrs Beeswax, a plump, red-faced, and very good-natured woman, who was recognised as the leading match-maker in the district, and who attended all weddings in almost an official capacity.

Then there were two young gentlemen, Jack Sparks and Ned Trolloway, from the neighbouring Survey camp. They were habitués of the house, and had brought their horse and trap with them to assist in the work of transport. Miss Seymour called them ‘our boys’, petted and scolded them by turns, and kept them going on endless errands.

Mr Arthur Irving, the local poet, was also present. He had promised to compose an ode for the occasion, and was discovered in the pantry regaling himself with jam and cream and kissing the housemaid, with a view, doubtless, of stimulating his poetical faculties. When detected by Mrs Beeswax, en flagrant délit, and roundly taken to task by that energetic lady, he could only blush, wipe his mouth, and plead as an excuse that he had been ‘brought up that way’.

Mrs Tupper, the clergyman's wife, also put in an appearance. She was a buxom and chirpy little woman, with her first baby in her plump arms, and a well-satisfied smirk on her red lips. She had a reputation for tattle and pastry, and she came to chatter and to bake. For in those pioneer days there was no sending round to the pastrycooks for the good things needed, and when a feast was given it involved much personal exertion to the ladies of the household, who had generally to manufacture all the delicacies with their own fair hands.

Mrs Tupper, having got the baby to sleep, worked vigorously with the rolling pin, and kept her little tongue going at a correspond- page 17 ing pace. She had a great deal to say on the subject of matrimony, especially from a religious point of view.

Over all these awful preparations for impending doom, Miss Seymour exercised absolute sway. She regulated all things, gave directions, and exacted implicit obedience.

Messrs Sparks and Trolloway, and even the lazy Irving, bowed, or rather sped, before her, and all parties showed due submission, until the arrival of Mr Raleigh, who attempted to raise the standard of revolt.

Unaccustomed to such peremptory commands, and opposed on principle to petticoat government of any description, he wanted to parley, to argue the point—even to criticise.

This was not to be tolerated.

‘I have given you instructions, Sir! What more do you require?’ remarked the imperious young lady.

‘You should add la reine le veux,’ suggested the other mildly.

‘Go!’ with a queenly wave of the hand.

‘Say please.’

‘Look here!’ exclaimed the irate Alice, drawing herself up to her full height, which was under five feet, ‘If you won't make yourself useful, then get out of the way.’

‘Do tell me whereabouts that is,’ pleaded the other, plaintively. ‘There's no such place here as out of the way.’

While all was commotion at Glenmoor there was also considerable excitement evinced beyond those happy precincts, for a good many people were more or less interested in the coming event.

Five young ladies, besides Alice, had been selected for bridesmaids. The slim and graceful Miss O'Neil was like one possessed, as she pirouetted about; the sweet Bella McPherson's innocent face was wreathed in smiles of anticipation; the discreet Miss Beaumont blushed more than usual; while Jessie and Maud, the two eldest of the Clifton girls, both placid, fair and plump, exhibited unusual animation in the way they galloped about.

Now it had been no easy matter to drive this handsome but skittish team, and Miss Seymour had found her sister bridesmaids to be quite beyond her control.

In the first place, there had been a difference, culminating in a violent altercation, concerning the most fitting dress for the occasion. Tastes and opinions varied, but it was necessary that all should conform to one standard, and this could only be brought about by the exercise of consummate tact. But the most serious and irreconcilable split occurred over the momentous question of head-gear. Lucy and page 18 Bella had insisted for bonnets, while the Clifton girls, backed by their authoritative mother, had held out for the orthodox veils. The reflective Miss Beaumont had hesitated for a time, but had eventually sided with the latter, as most appropriate. For after mature consideration, and qualifying herself for her duties by a careful and often repeated study of the marriage service, as set forth in the Book of Common Prayer, she had come to the conclusion that nobody could listen to such homilies in public without blushes, which evidently the veil was intended to conceal.

Alice Seymour had also hesitated. She felt herself placed in a difficult position, and would willingly have pleased both parties, had it been possible to effect a compromise between a bonnet and a veil. It must be admitted that her sympathies leant towards the former. She disliked mummeries and nunneries, and affectation of every description, and her frank and ingenuous nature had nothing that required veiling. Still she hesitated; until one day Lucy O'Neil bounced upon the scene, and exhibited, with great glee, the most lovely little article that ever was seen. It was indescribably beautiful, of the most delicate texture, about the size of a table salt-cellar, and held in position by a chin band of dainty blue flowers—in short, the sweetest thing out in bonnets.

Alice, though sensibly inclined, was still a woman. She saw, was conquered, and ordered another to match. And so it came about that there were three bonnets and three veils, but precedence was given to the bonnets; and this was a slight which the other side never forgot or forgave, and which produced a coolness between the respective families.

There were other mishaps. Although the prospects of the alliance looked so bright, and all parties joined in outward congratulations, yet the happy event did not pass over without certain heartburnings and misgivings. It cannot be denied that evil prognostications were not wanting to cloud the serenity of the occasion. Those who knew Albert Fitzroy best, and could appreciate his egotistical and shallow character at its true value, had expressed serious doubts as to the likelihood of his making a good husband, but no notice was taken of such illnatured croakings. The causes of concern to the feminine mind were of a far more alarming nature. A rumour had got abroad—a startling rumour—that a few days before the wedding the engaged ones had been seen together stirring their own wedding cake! Now, of all the unlucky things! … But a yet more ominous report had since been spread about—a report which might well raise the most serious apprehensions. It had been credibly stated, by one who was there, that page 19 about the same time, acting doubtless under the most reprehensible influence of the ‘philosopher’ and other misguided persons, whose very presence at that time was highly unbecoming, the bride-elect had shown herself to them in her wedding dress! Comment was superfluous.

The report was officially contradicted by Miss Seymour, but the evil impression could not be altogether eradicated, and several sympathising females had shaken their heads sorrowfully, and even shed tears over it.

Notwithstanding these bad omens, the affair, as before stated, was pronounced a great success. The little wooden church at Sunnydowns, which had been elaborately decorated for the occasion, was densely filled with the notabilities of the district, including numerous visitors from a distance, who had been invited to witness the ceremony; for in those days it was thought nothing of to ride twenty miles across country to attend a social gathering, or even to pay an afternoon call.

Outside of the sacred precincts a considerable crowd had collected, which appeared in high good humour, and ready to cheer all comers.

It was kept within proper bounds by the portly form of the solitary constable on duty; while to contribute to the dignity of the display two young mounted troopers, arrayed in shining uniforms, stood sentry on either side of the gate entrance.

The arrival of the bridegroom, in an elegant dog-cart, driving tandem with a spanking pair of chestnuts, the best man at his side, and a boy in buttons at the back, was the signal for prolonged applause; then followed a whole troop of young cavaliers, got up in their best bush style, which consisted of breeches and boots, tweed suits, and straw hats with long white puggaries streaming in the air. The bridal party arrived shortly afterwards in a covered wagonette, and received an ovation. Then there flocked in from all points of the compass a motley company, composed of all sorts and conditions of men and women, and conveyed in all kinds and descriptions of vehicles, including even a bullock dray. The numerous buggies and traps were for the most part driven inside the church enclosure, the horses taken out, and tied to the post-and-rail fence. The whole space was closely packed with them. Occasionally some restive animal would start ‘playing up’, causing a huge commotion in the camp, and threatening a stampede. Then there would be a rush to the rescue, and a call for repressive measures; whips would be used, accompanied with strong language, which was totally misplaced on consecrated ground, and the crowd outside would laugh and cheer.

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Within the church the ceremony went on very much as usual. It was noticed that the bridal pair formed a handsome couple, and articulated the responses audibly; that the bridesmaids looked charming, and were evidently jealous of one another; that the best man looked decidedly bored; and that several old women in the background were visibly affected; and that is about all that is generally noticed on such occasions.

The service was slow. The Reverend Tupper was not an eloquent preacher at his best, but to improve the present opportunity he drawled through a long sermon in a manner that was particularly tedious. The subject matter of his address, which dwelt mostly on the obedience due by wives to their husbands, was thought to have a personal bearing, as the learned divine was notoriously hen-pecked.

There was no music, as one of the keys of the harmonium had revealed a tendency to remain down after being pressed upon, thereby materially interfering with the harmony from other keys. But if the whole performance was rather tame, it answered the purpose very well; and at least it was not melancholy, for in compliance with Miss Seymour's urgent request to all friends present there was no crying!

On leaving the church a gay calcavade was soon formed, the carriages taking the middle of the road in single file, while the horsemen cantered on either side. Under a clear sky and in the bright warm sunshine, with the cracking of whips, the prancing of steeds, the waving of hats, and amidst the vociferous cheering of the crowd, they dashed off at a lively pace, first under a triumphal arch of evergreens that had been erected in their honour, then round the outskirts of the budding township, where at every hut door expectant figures could be seen with outstretched arms and waving handkerchiefs, then with deafening rattle and clatter across the shingle river-bed, and along the dusty main road between wide-stretching fields of growing corn, and then on to the open yellow plains, over which a bracing gale came wafted from the ocean, until they reached the shady recess of Glenmoor, where sumptuous preparations had been made for the wedding breakfast.

Among those who had been invited to the marriage ceremony, but who did not put in an appearance in church, was Mr Richard Raleigh. He had excused himself on the ground that he was under a vow never to attend a marriage, a christening, or a funeral. The ethical reasons upon which this grave resolution had been based were too intricate and profound for ordinary comprehension, and the Miss Seymours had declined to discuss them. They had accepted the inevitable with perfect good humour.

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‘Well, dear sir,’ the bride had said, with a merry twinkle in her blue eyes, ‘if you will not come to see me executed, perhaps you will not object to partake of the funeral cakes in celebration of my decease?’

The gentleman had to admit that his principles never forbad his partaking of good things, and so he had promised to turn up punctually for the breakfast.

It was a gay meeting. There were over sixty guests assembled, including the élite of the neighbourhood and many visitors from town. The limited resources of Glenmoor had been severely taxed to accommodate so large a party; but there was abundance of good cheer, and the utmost conviviality prevailed.

At the head of the table sat the bridal pair, in front of a cake of goodly proportions, bearing on its noble head a crown of silvered paper, and some tiny banners with blue mottoes, artistically designed (some of Mr Raleigh's work), and an interesting group of sugar doves in various strained attitudes, depictive, no doubt, of billing and cooing.

The sturdy and debonair bridegroom looked his best, and appeared extremely well satisfied both with himself and his fair bargain; for it was evidently somewhat in that light that he glanced complacently down on the gentle creature by his side.

The bride was beautiful—poetically beautiful. A softly-outlined oval face, pensive in all its features, and yet brightened with a look of archness about her clear blue eyes—for all the Seymours laughed with their eyes—a delicate complexion, masses of flaxen hair that was bound in ample coils over her shapely head, and a rather sentimental manner. She seemed timid and subdued—almost scared at the noise and animation around her, and the consciousness of being the focus of so many inquisitive and admiring glances. At her right hand was the ‘best man,’ a relation of her husband's—a tall and round-faced young man, who lolled languidly on his chair, and surveyed with placid indifference the scene of commotion going on. He was nicknamed ‘the Owl’. Next to him sat Miss Seymour, looking pale and anxious, and apparently more concerned about the proper distribution of wines and victuals than aught else besides; but may be her looks belied her. She was a perfect contrast to her sister. Short of stature, plump, buxom, and well developed, with a face that was rather full, and of an olive complexion, a nose slightly retroussé, warm lips, and large lustrous dark eyes that beamed with an ever-varying expression. A frank, smiling countenance—not pretty, only charming—upon which was written in radiant characters—sincerity.

‘Why do you give so much anxious thought to what people eat and page 22 drink?’ remarked Richard Raleigh, while helping himself to some more pigeon-pie. ‘You should aim at something better.’

‘And pray what is that?’ asked Alice, quietly.

‘The feast of the soul,’ continued the other, tossing off a bumper of Burgundy.

‘I fear such an entertainment would hardly be appreciated by most of those present.’

‘So much the worse for such greedy creatures then. As for me, I am doing as others do only not to appear peculiar. Would you mind passing my plate for another slice of that delicious ham. By the by, I notice that you are not taking anything yourself. How do you feel?’

‘Suffocating!’

‘Poor child! it must be a trying time for you. However, there is one consolation, it can't occur again until your own turn comes.’

‘That will never be. I am on the shelf.’

‘Then you must have placed yourself there, but not very high up. Not that I should advise you to alter your present mind, for matrimony is a mistake.’

‘Your remarks are not very appropriate to the festive occasion.’

‘They never are; I pride myself on that. Take a glass of wine, and pass me the mustard, that's a good girl.’

‘I should like to pinch you.’

‘Oh, please don't! Any innocent familiarities of that sort might be misconstrued. Do you see that Mrs Beeswax has never ceased watching us for the past quarter of an hour. More match-making, I fear; but I wish she would turn her attention elsewhere.’

‘Oh, you need not be at all alarmed, I am sure. Look at those boys down there, they have nothing before them.’

‘The gluttons! They have devoured everything at their end of the table, and are now coming foraging on our side. Hold hard, young man! We have not finished with that pie yet.’

‘It's wanted for a lady,’ cried Arthur Irving, as he seized upon the prize and ran off with it.

‘Do you notice how the doctor never takes his eyes off Miss Sparks?’ remarked the dapper little Delamer to the sprightly Lucy O'Neil.

‘And she,’ replied the young lady, ‘never takes her eyes off her plate. How interesting!’

‘Perhaps he is concerned about her digestion, for she has just taken her seventh helping to tipsy-cake,’ interjected Mr Tippings, the funny man.

‘Tippings, you are gross,’ exclaimed the first speaker, reprovingly.

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‘Never mind! There stands a grocer,’ answers the punster, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder to the dignified Mr Green, who had risen from his seat.

‘Hush, for shame!’ cried Lucy; ‘he is a merchant, not a green grocer.’

‘Do you know the difference, Miss O'Neil,’ inquired Delamer, blandly, ‘between a grocer and a merchant?’

‘Of course; something between wholesale and retail, isn't it?’

‘The distinction is this,’ pursued the little man, pointedly. ‘A grocer will sell you a single box of matches, but a merchant will not dispose of less than a packet of three boxes.’

‘And a lady,’ exclaimed the irrepressible Tippings, ‘will dispose of herself for one match.’

‘Oh, you horrid man, do be quiet. Mr Green is a gentleman; we know his family.’

‘That's no joke,’ said Tippings, ‘for the has nine children.’

‘I don't see,’ continued Delamer, with decision, ‘how the possession of such a numerous progency can be held to add to the man's social status; for, you see, a gentleman is a man of family; the other is only a family man.’

Miss Lucy blushed and tittered, Mr Tippings rolled about in his chair, and Mr Delamer, with the air of a petit mâitre, preserved his gravity. Then there was a sudden hammering on the table, and filling of glasses, as the prompous Green, the gentleman in question, proposed the health of the bridal pair.

The speeches that followed were much of the usual order.

The bridegroom responded very becomingly, and even attempted a little joke, begging to be excused his many deficiencies on the plea of his total want of experience in getting married, which was considered a capital hit.

The ‘best man,’ who had to return thanks for the bridesmaids, scored a success, as much by his stolid manner as by his dry remarks.

He pretended to take his audience into his confidence, and explained the pains he had been to in order to qualify himself thoroughly for his onerous duties on this occasion. He had waited on several married ladies to ask their advice as to what he had to do, but all he was told amounted only to this, that he should make himself agreeable to the bridesmaids. Now, he wanted to know if he had succeeded in that arduous task? (Cries of ‘No, no,’ ‘Not at all,’ ‘Far from it.’) He was really very sorry; all he could say was that he had done his best to please the fair—perhaps he did not know the right way to go about it. (Groans.) One duty he knew he had forgotten, and he page 24 humbly apologised for the omission; it was due to sheer ignorance, and he hoped it would be forgiven him—when in the vestry he had neglected to kiss the bridesmaids. (Groans and murmurs.) It was sad remissness on his part, but he would ask, Was it still too late? Might not the omission yet be rectified? He was ready. (Cheers and laughter.) Then as to making himself agreeable, it was no easy task in such fascinating company. Surrounded by such a bevy of beauties, and swayed by so many attractions, he had felt himself positively bewitched. Now, to expect a fellow to bewitch and be bewitched at the same time was too much. (Great applause.)

He then launched forth into the praises of his friend, the captain, whom he commended especially for those good qualities which the latter did not possess. The flattery was therefore all the more acceptable, and was received with loud cheering.

Mr Seymour made a hearty speech, in which he said all that was required, while carefully abstaining from ‘gushing’ over his daughter or indulging in any pathetic demonstration. To divert all reference to sad topics, he made an unexpected onslaught on Raleigh, whose supposed ‘successes’ with the fair ones at Sunnydowns, and especially married ladies, was made the subject of some amusing comments. The attacked party took the joke in excellent part, Miss Seymour was delighted, and most people laughed; but a few of the ‘proper ones’, especially of the scandal-mongering tribe, looked down their noses, and affected to consider the charge much too serious to jest about.

Then everybody rose as the bride retired to change her dress for the journey. The interregnum was not of long duration, and was kept going by the popping of champagne bottles. People talked of indifferent topics, and young Sparks caused some diversion by going round with a huge basket charged with old slippers, which he distributed with the utmost gravity.

Then came the most trying scene of all, when the bride, in her travelling dress, came to bid farewell, and all the kissing took place.

The parting between the aged father and his darling child was affecting, and when the two devoted sisters were locked in one another's arms for a parting embrace, it required an effort even for lookers-on to restrain their emotion, for they all knew what a passing love had united that happy family.

But Miss Seymour had said there was to be ‘no crying’, and the order was heroically obeyed to the last.

After the bridal party had left for town the guests returned to table, and the feast, for a moment interrupted, was resumed with page 25 increased ardour. Wine flowed freely, the humour became more boisterous, and the speechifying interminable, even the ladies contributing. Mr Richard Raleigh vacated the seat of honour which had been assigned to him, and sought refuge among ‘the boys’ at the furthest end of the table.

From this new post he delivered himself of an oration in praise of bachelors, and waxed quite eloquent over the blessings of the single estate.

‘Where I sat before, amidst so many female attractions,’ he exclaimed, ‘I felt some hesitation at expressing my real sentiments, but here, among my chums, I can throw off these silken fetters and am free to speak; Richard is himself again!’

The Reverend Charles Tupper had a great deal to say about everybody and everything; he had no sooner proposed one toast than he was on to another one, and returned thanks into the bargain. Once upon his legs, there was no getting him to stop, until at last his distracted little wife rushed to the rescue, and, seizing him by the coattails, fairly dragged him down, exclaiming, with imploring accents, ‘Sit down, Charley; now do sit down, Charley dear.’

The breakfast was prolonged through the afternoon, and after it terminated the room was cleared, the lamps lit, and the young people started an impromptu dance. They were soon all in a whirl, while some of the elder ladies took it in turn to play for them.

The fun grew ‘fast and furious’, and all serious thoughts of the occasion were dispelled in the merriment, for when that silly Flora, who was always so very innocent, lisped out at a late hour in the evening, ‘I wonder what dear Mary and Bertie are doing now,’ the blank look on the faces of those present showed that the subject had not received their smallest attention.

Then the leave-taking began, and towards midnight the party dispersed. Raleigh was the last to go, and as he shook hands with Miss Seymour he evidently attempted to say something nice and appropriate. He spoke of the endearing qualities of the fair one who had just left the parental roof, and he was waxing quite sentimental on the subject, when Alice interrupted him.

‘And what about Albert?’ she said. ‘I know you two are not sympathetic, but he is a fine fellow, is he not?’

‘Certainly,’ replied the other; ‘and now that he is your brother-in-law I will never say anything but what is good of him.’

‘Well, then, say something good,’ pleaded Alice.

The young man paused an instant to reflect. He looked into the sweet, inquiring face before him, and held the soft little hand, which page 26 felt quite feverish, in his own. Then a happy thought struck him; he smiled, and said impressively, ‘Albert Fitzroy has good legs.’

Alice laughed; then she retired alone into the big deserted room, all dust and disorder, with its faded decorations and chilly emptiness; she threw herself on a chair, covered her face with her hands, and sought relief for her overtaxed feelings in a flood of tears.