de elect held her head very erect; the red spots in her cheeks
glowed like double peonies; her two thin curls, done in oil for the
occasion, hung straight and stiff like pendant icicles nigrescent; her
sparkling black eyes looked apparently into vacuity, while they were
really beholding the acme of all her hopes. She was thinking in that
supreme moment of her life how very providential it was that she had
thrown overboard Mr. Freeman Clarke. Whether he was picked up or whether
the sharks devoured him, it occurred not to her to care. That she was
about to become the fourth wife of the Rev. Dr. Adams, foreign
missionary at the Capitol city of Turkey, was sufficient glory; she
could have afforded to quench the hopes, and tread upon the hearts of a
dozen such as that itinerant preacher. She had reserved herself for a
grand calling, her life would be written in a book, and _her_ name too,
along with the Judsons, the Newells, the Deans, would inspire Sunday
school scholars with zeal for missionary life unto the end of time.

But we are keeping them waiting.

Philip, always master of the situation, choked down his indignation and
spoke the words, "for better--for worse." His prayer was brief and dry,
without one bit of heart or spirit, but maybe it answered the purpose.

The Doctor, after the tying of the knot, did condescend to thank Philip
for his kindness in bringing him over a wife. Philip replied with
truthfulness that he merited no thanks.

And after all, once started again upon their inland journey, both Philip
and his wife regretted not the absence of Arethusa. They had endured her
company for sake of the advantage she was to prove to them in the
future; they now fully realized how much she had been in their way.

Philip's respect for the Doctor sensibly diminished. If he could endure
Miss Arethusa for the the rest of his life, his taste was abominable.
_De gustibus non disputandum est_; with this familiar reflection, Philip
turned to a subject more agreeable.

Thus had Arethusa's life-long dream of becoming a missionary's wife
proved neither illusive nor vain; and she had dropped the Toothaker.

[Footnote A: A fact.]

CHAPTER XI.

ALTHEA'S GUARDIANS.

The little Althea then, who is our heroine, when we shall come to her,
had been entrusted, somewhat unwillingly, to her aunt, Juliet St. Leger
Temple; Juliet never wrote her name only in full, as above. She was
proud of her maiden name. St. Leger was r