hout the necessity of making a choice.
Everything turned out as arranged. Millicent and Mrs. Cunningham went
down in a post chaise, two days before the wedding, and Mark drove down
in his gig with them. Dick Chetwynd met them on horseback just outside
Reigate, and escorted the ladies to his house, Mark driving on to that
of Sir Charles Harris. Millicent found the house full of her special
friends, whom she had asked to be her bridesmaids. She was almost
bewildered by the warmth of their welcome, and overpowered by the
questions poured upon her.

"The news quite took all our breath away, Millicent," one of them said.
"It seems extraordinary that you should have been Miss Thorndyke all the
time, though I don't think that any of us were at all surprised that you
should take the name now; you must have been surprised when you heard
that you were the heiress of Crowswood."

"I was a great deal more disgusted than surprised," she said rather
indignantly. "I did not think that it was fair at all that I should step
into Mark's shoes."

"Well, it has all come right now, Millicent, and I dare say you thought
that it would, even then."

"I can assure you that I did not; quite the contrary, I thought that it
never would come right. I was very unhappy about it for a time."

"Now, young ladies," Dick Chetwynd laughed, "will you please take Mrs.
Cunningham and Miss Thorndyke up to their rooms? I don't suppose I shall
see any more of you before dinner time; there are those trunks to be
opened and examined, talked over, and admired. Mind, I have fifteen
more, for the most part men, coming to dinner, so those of you who
aspire to follow Miss Thorndyke's example had best prepare yourselves
for conquest."

The ball on the following evening was a great success. Dick had
determined that it should be a memorable one, and there was a consensus
of opinion that it was the most brilliant that had taken place in that
part of the country for many years.

Crowswood church and village presented a most festive appearance on
the following day; there was not a cottage that had not great posies of
flowers in its windows, and that had not made some sort of attempt
at decoration with flags or flowers. A huge arch of evergreens, with
sheaves of wheat and flowers, had been erected on the top of the hill,
and every man, woman, and child turned out in their best, and cheered
lustily, first, when Mark drove up in his gig, and equally lustily when
the C