ax saints.
The delicate odor of the roses, the Linnea blossoms, and carnations,
blended with the spicy scent of the firs, and made a fragrance as strong
as if it had been distilled from centuries of summer. The villagers had
been told by Father Antoine, that this stranger who was to marry their
good "Tantibba," was one who had known and loved her for twenty years,
and who had been seeking her vainly all these years that she had lived
in St. Mary's. The tale struck a warm chord in the breasts of the
affectionate and enthusiastic people. The whole village was in great
joy, both for love of "Tantibba," and for the love of romance, so
natural to the French heart. Every one who had a flower in blossom
picked it, or brought the plant to place in the chapel. Every man,
woman, and child in the town, dressed as for a _fete_, was in the
chapel, and praying for "Tantibba," long before the hour for the
ceremony. When Eben and Hetty entered the door, the fragrance, the
waving flowers, the murmuring crowd, unnerved Hetty. She had not been
prepared for this.

"Oh, Eben!" she whispered, and, halting for a moment, clung tighter to
his arm. He turned a look of affectionate pride upon her, and, pressing
her hand, led her on. Father Antoine's face glowed with loving
satisfaction as he pronounced the words so solemn to him, so significant
to them. As for Marie, she could hardly keep quiet on her knees: her
silver necklace fairly rattled on her shoulders with her excitement.

"Ah, but she looks like an angel! may the saints keep her," she
muttered; "but what will comfort M'sieur Antoine for the loss of her,
when she is gone?"

After the ceremony was over, all the people walked with the bride and
bridegroom to the inn, where the diligence was waiting in which they
were to begin their journey; the same old vehicle in which Hetty had
come ten years before alone to St. Mary's, and Doctor Eben had come a
few weeks ago alone to St. Mary's, "not knowing the things which should
befall him there."

It was an incongruous old vehicle for a wedding journey; and the flowers
at the ancient horses' heads, and the knots of green at the cracked
windows, would have made one laugh who had no interest in the meaning of
the decorations. But it was the only four-wheeled vehicle in St. Mary's,
and to these simple villagers' way of thinking, there was nothing
unbecoming in Tantibba's going away in it with her husband.

"Farewell to thee! Farewell to thee! The