er brother's eye.

Strangely enough there was nothing to repel, but, on the contrary,
everything to attract in the look and manner of the person whose mere
presence seemed to exercise such a curiously constraining influence over
the wedding-party. Louis Trudaine was a remarkably handsome man. His
expression was singularly kind and gentle; his manner irresistibly
winning in its frank, manly firmness and composure. His words, when he
occasionally spoke, seemed as unlikely to give offense as his looks;
for he only opened his lips in courteous reply to questions directly
addressed to him. Judging by a latent mournfulness in the tones of his
voice, and by the sorrowful tenderness which clouded his kind, earnest
eyes whenever they rested on his sister, his thoughts were certainly not
of the happy or the hopeful kind. But he gave them no direct expression;
he intruded his secret sadness, whatever it might be, on no one of his
companions. Nevertheless, modest and self-restrained as he was, there
was evidently some reproving or saddening influence in his presence
which affected the spirits of every one near him, and darkened the eve
of the wedding to bride and bridegroom alike.

As the sun slowly sank in the heavens, the conversation flagged more and
more. After a long silence, the bridegroom was the first to start a new
subject.

"Rose, love," he said, "that magnificent sunset is a good omen for our
marriage; it promises another lovely day to-morrow."

The bride laughed and blushed.

"Do you really believe in omens, Charles?" she said.

"My dear," interposed the old lady, before her son could answer, "if
Charles does believe in omens, it is nothing to laugh at. You will soon
know better, when you are his wife, than to confound him, even in the
slightest things, with the common herd of people. All his convictions
are well founded--so well, that if I thought he really did believe in
omens, I should most assuredly make up my mind to believe in them too."

"I beg your pardon, madame," Rose began, tremulously, "I only meant--"

"My dear child, have you so little knowledge of the world as to suppose
that I could be offended--"

"Let Rose speak," said the young man.

He turned round petulantly, almost with the air of a spoiled child,
to his mother, as he said those words. She had been looking fondly and
proudly on him the moment before. Now her eyes wandered disconcertedly
from his face; she hesitated an instant with a sudd