Agatha looked pale and worn out, which was no wonder, considering that for several days she had endured, morning, noon, and night, all the wearisome preparations which the kind-hearted Emma deemed indispensable to "a really nice wedding." But her betrothed noticed her paleness with troubled eyes.

"You are not ill, my darling?"

"No," said Agatha, abruptly, blushing lest any one should hear the tender word, which none had ever used to her before, and blushing still deeper when, meeting Major Harper's anxious looks fixed on them both, she fancied he had heard. A foolish sensitiveness made her turn away from her lover, and talk to the first person who came in her way.

Meanwhile Mr. Th.o.r.n.ycroft and Dr. Ianson, with a knowledge that time was precious, had gone at once to the business of the meeting, and were deep in perusal of the marriage-settlement of which they were to be witnesses.

"Why, Miss Bowen, you are a richer girl than I knew," said Emma's worthy husband, coming forward, with his round pleasant face. "I congratulate you; at this particular crisis, when hundreds are being ruined by last year's mania for railway speculation, it is most fortunate to have safe funded property."

Major Harper's conscience groaned within, and it was all over. He resigned himself to stern necessity and force of circ.u.mstances--hoping everything would turn out for the best.

Then they all gathered round the table, and Mr. Grimes droned out the necessary formalities. The bride-elect listened, half in a dream--the bridegroom rather more attentively.

"Are you quite sure," said he, pausing, with the pen in his hand, and casting his eyes keenly over the doc.u.ment--"are you quite sure this deed answers the purpose I intended? This is the total amount of property which Mr. Bowen left?"

And he looked from his brother to the lawyer with an anxiety which long afterwards recurred bitterly to Agatha's mind.

Mr. Grimes bowed, and a.s.sured him that all was correct. So the young bridegroom signed with a steady hand, and afterwards watched the rather tremulous signature of his bride. Then an inexpressible content diffused itself over his face. Putting her arm in his, he led her away proudly, as though she were already his own.

Confused by her novel position, Agatha looked instinctively for some womanly encouragement, but Emma Th.o.r.n.y-croft was busily engaged in admiring observation of some wedding presents, and Mrs. Ianson was worse than n.o.body.

"Miss Valery!--what has become of Miss Valery? said the bride, her eyes wandering restlessly around. Other eyes followed hers--Major Harper's.

Incredulously these rested on the silent lady in the background, whose whole mien, figure, and attire, in the plain dark dress, and close morning cap, marked her a woman undeniably and fearlessly middle-aged.

"Is it possible!" he exclaimed. "Can that be Anne Valery?"

The lady arose, and met him with extended hand. "It is Anne Valery, and she is very glad to see you, Major Harper."

They shook hands; his confused manner contrasting strongly with her perfect serenity. After a moment Miss Bowen, who could not help watching, heard him say:

"I, too, am glad we have met at last. I hope it is as friends!"

"I was never otherwise to you," she answered, gently; and joined the circle.

This rather singular greeting, noticed by none but herself, awakened Agatha's old wrath against Major Harper, lest, as her romantic imagination half suggested, the secret of Anne Valery's always remaining Anne Valery, was, that his old companion had been first on the ill.u.s.trious Frederick's long list of broken hearts. If so, never was there a broken heart that made so little outward show, or wore such a cheerful exterior, as Miss Valery's.

But Agatha's own heart was too full of the busy trembling fancies natural to her position to speculate overmuch on the hearts of other people. Very soon Major Harper quitted the house, and the Th.o.r.n.ycrofts also. She was left alone with her lover and with Anne--Anne, who ever since her arrival had seemed to keep a steady watch over Nathanael's bride. They had rarely met, and for brief intervals; yet Agatha felt that she was perpetually under this guardianship, gentle, though strong--holding her fluctuating spirit firm, and filling her with all cheerful hopes and tender thoughts of her future husband. She seemed to grow a better woman every time she saw Anne Valery. It was inexpressibly sweet to turn for a few moments each day from the lace and the ribbons, the dresses and the bridecake, and hear Anne talk of what true marriage really was--when two people entirely and worthily loved one another.

Only Agatha had not the courage to confess, what she began to hope was a foolish doubt, that the "love" which Miss Valery seemed to take for granted she felt towards Nathanael, was a something which as yet she herself did not quite understand.

That Sat.u.r.day afternoon, nevertheless, she was calmer and more at ease.

Signing the settlement had removed all doubts from her mind, and made her realise clearly that she would soon be Mr. Harper's wife. And he was so tender over her, so happy. Her marriage with him appeared to make every one happy. That very day he had brought her a heap of letters from Dorsetshire; her first welcome from his kindred--her own that would be.

They seemed to know all about her--from Anne Valery doubtless--and to be delighted at Nathanael's choice. There was a kind but formal missive from the old father, implying his dignified satisfaction that at last one of his sons would marry to keep up the family name. From the daughters there were letters varying in style and matter, but all cordial except, perhaps, Eulalie's, who had years to wait before _she_ married, and was rather cross accordingly. One note, in neat and delicate writing, made Agatha's heart beat; for it was signed, "Your affectionate _sister_, Elizabeth."

She, who had longed for a sister all her life! Heaven was very good to her, to give her all ties through one! It seemed, indeed, right and holy that she should be married to Nathanael.

One only unutterable terror she had, which by a fortunate chance was never alluded to by any one, and she was too much occupied to have it often forced on her mind. This was, the thought of having to cross the seas to Canada.

"Oh!" she sighed, as she sat, with the letters on her lap, listening to what her lover said of his sisters and his family--"oh! that we could do as your father seems to wish, and go and live in Dorsetshire, near Kingcombe Holm."

"I wish it too, if it would please you, dear; but it seems impossible.

How could I live in England without a profession?--even supposing Uncle Brian did consent to return and settle at home. Sometimes, but very rarely, he has hinted at such a possibility.--He has indeed, Anne,"

continued the young man, noticing how keenly Miss Valery's eyes were fixed on him.

"I am glad to hear it."

"But he always said he would never return till he was grown either very rich or very old. Alas; the latter chance may come, but the former never! Poor Uncle Brian! If he comes at all, it is sure not to be for many years."

"Not for many years!" repeated Miss Valery, who was crossing over to Agatha's side with a piece of rich lace she had been unfolding. As she walked, her hand was unconsciously pressed upon her chest, a habit she had after any quick movement. And, leaning over Agatha, she breathed painfully and hard.

"My dear?" The young girl looked up. "Your sisters that are to be desired me to give you from them a wedding-present. It was to be your veil. But I had a whim that I would like to give you your veil myself.

Here it is. Will you accept it, with my love?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: Will you accept it, with my love p090]

So saying, she laid over the bride's head a piece of old point lace, magnificent in texture. Agatha had never seen anything like it.

"Oh, Miss Valery, to think of your giving me this! It is fit for a queen!" And she looked at Mr. Harper, hesitating to accept so costly a gift.

"Nay, take it," said he smiling. "Never scruple at its costliness; it cannot be richer than Anne's heart." And he grasped his old friend's hand warmly.

Miss Valery continued, with a slight colour rising in her cheek. "This was given me twenty years ago for a wedding-veil. It has been wasted upon me, you see, but I wish some one to wear it, and would like it to be worn by a Mrs. Locke Harper."

Agatha blushed crimson. Nathanael looked delighted. Neither noticed Anne Valery; who, her pa.s.sing colour having sunk into a still deeper paleness, quietly returned to her seat, and soon after quitted the house.

CHAPTER IX.

It was a most unconscionably early hour on the wedding morning when Mrs.

Th.o.r.n.ycroft, who had insisted on mounting guard overnight in Bedford Square, to see that all things were made ready to go off "merry as a marriage bell," came into Agatha's room and roused the bride.

"I never knew such a thing in all my life! Well, he is the most extraordinary young man! What is to be done, my dear?"

"What--what?" said Agatha, waking, with a confused notion that something very dreadful had happened, or was going to happen. She recollected that this day on which she so early opened her eyes was some day of great solemnity. It seemed so like that of her father's funeral.

"Don't be frightened, love. Nothing has occurred; only there is Mr.

Harper in the parlour below, wanting to speak with you. I never heard of such a request from a bridegroom. It is contrary to all rules of common sense and decorum."

"Hush!" said Agatha, trying to collect her thoughts. "Tell me exactly his message."

"That he wished to speak with you at once, before you dress for church; and will wait for you in the dining-room. What--you are not going to do as he desires?--I wouldn't! One should never _obey_ till after marriage."

Agatha made no answer, but composedly began to dress. In a few minutes she had once more put on the mourning, laid aside as she thought for ever the night before, and had gone down-stairs to her bridegroom.

He was standing in the only available corner of the room not occupied by a chaotic ma.s.s of hymeneal preparations, and gazing vacantly out into the square, where the trees cast the long shadows of early morning, while the merry little sparrows kept up a perpetual din.