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CHAPTER XI.

O then the longest summer's day

Seemed too too much in haste; still the full heart
Had not imparted half; 'twas happiness

Too exquisite to last!

-Because right is right, to follow right
Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.

BLAIR.

TENNYSON.

ALL now went smoothly; everybody looked happy in their different ways. Arthur was in a state of ecstatic glee, which vented itself in extreme physical activity; his sister thought everything was owing to her diplomatic skill; Mrs. Marshall quietly enjoyed the triumph of true love; Mr. Marshall was full of warm and heartfelt satisfaction. Even Aunt Jane was pleased! The bustle and importance that she extracted from the ap

proaching wedding, made her grow quite fond of Edward.

Presents poured in upon Mary from all her relations; letters of congratulation lauded bride and bridegroom to the skies; virtues unsuspected before were discovered in each, and of all the inhabitants of earth they alone were worthy of each other. People rise so wonderfully in the world's estimation the moment they are engaged!

Numberless pleasing preparations began to be made. The house assigned to Edward had to be furnished, and this Mr. Hardy undertook. After sundry demurrings on the score of propriety from Miss Jane, who pronounced as authoritatively on all questions respecting matrimony, as if she had been married very often herself, and who thought it much more according to etiquette that Mary should not enter the doors of her future home till she was lawfully mistress of it, Mary and Edward were allowed to superintend and direct everything themselves, and to make improvements and alterations in the grounds to their heart's content.

The situation of the house was tolerably pretty; there were a few good trees about it, and altogether it afforded capabilities which, to minds predisposed to be pleased, gave the promise of a future paradise.

Mary's bright looks, and never ceasing devotion to her father, helped to reconcile him to the step he had so reluctantly taken; and she had the satisfaction of seeing Edward daily gain ground in his esteem. Though always cheerful, Mary, from being an only child, and having no companions of her own age, had hitherto shown little of the thoughtless light-heartedness of youth; it was a new pleasure to Mr. Hardy to hear her merry laugh ring through the house, and gay snatches of melody burst forth like a bird's song from unconscious joyousness; while, as he fondly said, "she seemed to grow quite a child again, just when she ought to be assuming the gravity and dignity that would become her as a wife." He was thus prevented from dwelling upon his old prejudices; which, however, he knew to be only put away out of sight, not eradicated from

the breast they had so long occupied. His manner to Edward never, in the slightest degree, intimated that he remembered his former objections; and he was scrupulously and delicately attentive to spare feelings which circumstances had made over-sensitive. In short, nothing could be more satisfactory than the footing upon which all were with one another. To Edward and Mary life seemed one long bright waking dream of perfect bliss.

The winter was passed, and spring was coming on. The wedding-day drew near. One little cloud came across the sun-shine— it was the death of Edward's guardian-but, owing to various circumstances, there had been of late so little intercourse between them, that Edward did not feel the loss personally, though he grieved for the widow and the orphans.

A week before the day fixed for the marriage, Edward took possession of his new house he had had a long evening walk with Mary, and parting with her at her father's door, he promised to be at Allerton early

VOL. I.

L

the next morning, and turned his steps homewards. For the first time in his life he had a home! His heart overflowed with happiness, as he pictured to himself the years to be passed in that home. The joyous days, the quiet evenings, the domestic cares, even the sorrows that might come, if they were to be shared with his gentle wife. The night was calm, the air so sweet with the odour of spring buds and blossoms that he could hardly bring himself to go in, even to his own house, and he lingered long, giving himself up without control to imagination. When he entered the pretty drawing-room, which looked cheerful by the light of the small fire that was burning, he could not rouse himself to read the pile of business letters that awaited him; but throwing himself into an arm-chair, he went on indulging his fancy, picturing to himself Mary as the presiding genius of his home. In one short week she would be there, its mistress-that would be her writing-table, this her corner for reading, here she would sit and work while he read to her. He could hardly

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