THE promise of the weather-glass was fulfilled. The sun shone onBlanche's marriage.

At nine in the morning the first of the proceedings of the daybegan. It was essentially of a clandestine nature. The bride andbridegroom evaded the restraints of lawful authority, andpresumed to meet together privately, before they were married, inthe conservatory at Ham Farm.

"You have read my letter, Arnold?"

"I have come here to answer it, Blanche. But why not have toldme? Why write?"

"Because I put off telling you so long; and because I didn't knowhow you might take it; and for fifty other reasons. Never mind!I've made my confession. I haven't a single secret now which isnot your secret too. There's time to say No, Arnold, if you thinkI ought to have no room in my heart for any body but you. Myuncle tells me I am obstinate and wrong in refusing to give Anneup. If you agree with him, say the word, dear, before you make meyour wife."

"Shall I tell you what I said to Sir Patrick last night?"

"About _this?_"

"Yes. The confession (as you call it) which you make in yourpretty note, is the very thing that Sir Patrick spoke to me aboutin the dining-room before I went away. He told me your heart wasset on finding Miss Silvester. And he asked me what I meant to doabout it when we were married."

"And you said--?"

Arnold repeated his answer to Sir Patrick, with fervidembellishments of the original language, suitable to theemergency. Blanche's delight expressed itself in the form of twounblushing outrages on propriety, committed in close succession.She threw her arms round Arnold's neck; and she actually kissedhim three hours before the consent of State and Church sanctionedher in taking that proceeding. Let us shudder--but let us notblame her. These are the consequences of free institutions

"Now," said Arnold, "it's my turn to take to pen and ink. I havea letter to write before we are married as well as you. Onlythere's this difference between us--I want you to help me."

"Who are you going to write to?"

"To my lawyer in Edinburgh. There will be no time unless I do itnow. We start for Switzerland this afternoon--don't we?'

"Yes."

"Very well. I want to relieve your mind, my darling before we go.Wouldn't you like to know--while we are away--that the rightpeople are on the look-out for Miss Silvester? Sir Patrick hastold me of the last place that she has been traced to--and mylawyer will set the right people at work. Come and help me to putit in the proper language, and the whole thing will be in train."

"Oh, Arnold! can I ever love you enough to reward you for this!"

"We shall see, Blanche--in Switzerland."

They audaciously penetrated, arm in arm, into Sir Patrick's ownstudy--entirely at their disposal, as they well knew, at thathour of the morning. With Sir Patrick's pens and Sir Patrick'spaper they produced a letter of instructions, deliberatelyreopening the investigation which Sir Patrick's superior wisdomhad closed. Neither pains nor money were to be spared by thelawyer in at once taking measures (beginning at Glasgow) to findAnne. The report of the result was to be addressed to Arnold,under cover to Sir Patrick at Ham Farm. By the time the letterwas completed the morning had advanced to ten o'clock. Blancheleft Arnold to array herself in her bridal splendor--afteranother outrage on propriety, and more consequences of freeinstitutions.

The next proceedings were of a public and avowable nature, andstrictly followed the customary precedents on such occasions.

Village nymphs strewed flowers on the path to the church door(and sent in the bill the same day). Village swains rang thejoy-bells (and got drunk on their money the same evening). Therewas the proper and awful pause while the bridegroom was keptwaiting at the church. There was the proper and pitiless staringof all the female spectators when the bride was led to the altar.There was the clergyman's preliminary look at the license--whichmeant official caution. And there was the clerk's preliminarylook at the bridegroom--which meant official fees. All the womenappeared to be in their natural element; and all the men appearedto be out of it.

Then the service began--rightly-considered, the most terrible,surely, of all mortal ceremonies--the service which binds twohuman beings, who know next to nothing of each other's natures,to risk the tremendous experiment of living together till deathparts them--the service which says, in effect if not in words,Take your leap in the dark: we sanctify, but we don't insure, it!

The ceremony went on, without the slightest obstacle to mar itseffect. There were no unforeseen interruptions. There were noominous mistakes.

The last words were spoken, and the book was closed. They signedtheir names on the register; the husband was congratulated; thewife was embraced. They went back aga in to the house, with moreflowers strewn at their feet. The wedding-breakfast was hurried;the wedding-speeches were curtailed: there was no time to bewasted, if the young couple were to catch the tidal train.

In an hour more the carriage had whirled them away to thestation, and the guests had given them the farewell cheer fromthe steps of the house. Young, happy, fondly attached to eachother, raised securely above all the sordid cares of life, what agolden future was theirs! Married with the sanction of the Familyand the blessing of the Church--who could suppose that the timewas coming, nevertheless, when the blighting question would fallon them, in the spring-time of their love: Are you Man and Wife?