sted upon to her marriage. Charlotte did not know until now how she
had chafed at this delay; how she had longed to be the wife of the man
she loved. She said, "Thank God!" under her breath, then ran upstairs to
her own room.

Charlotte's maid had the special care of this room. It was a sunshiny
morning, and the warm spring air came in through the open window.

"Yes, leave it open," she said to the girl; "it seems as if spring had
really come to-day."

"But it is winter still, madam, February is not yet over," replied the
lady's maid. "Better let me shut it, Miss Harman, this is only a pet
day."

"I will enjoy it then, Ward," answered Miss Harman. "And now leave me,
for I am very busy."

The maid withdrew, and Charlotte seated herself by her writing table.
She was engaged over a novel which Messrs. M----, of ---- Street, had
pronounced really good; they would purchase the copyright, and they
wanted the MS. by a given date. How eager she had felt about this
yesterday; how determined not to let anything interfere with its
completion! But to-day, she took up her pen as usual, read over the last
page she had written, then sat quiet, waiting for inspiration.

What was the matter with her? No thought came. As a rule thoughts flowed
freely, proceeding fast from the brain to the pen, from the pen to the
paper. But to-day? What ailed her to-day? The fact was, the most natural
thing in the world had come to stop the flow of fiction. It was put out
by a greater fire. The moon could shine brilliantly at night, but how
sombre it looked beside the sun! The great sunshine of her own personal
joy was flooding Charlotte's heart to-day, and the griefs and delights
of the most attractive heroine in the world must sink into
insignificance beside it. She sat waiting for about a quarter of an
hour, then threw down her pen in disgust. She pulled out her watch.
Hinton could not be with her before the afternoon. The morning was
glorious. What had Ward, her maid, called the day?--"a pet day." Well,
she would enjoy it; she would go out. She ran to her room, enveloped
herself in some rich and becoming furs, and went into the street. She
walked on a little way, rather undecided where to turn her steps. In an
instant she could have found herself in Kensington Gardens or Hyde Park;
but, just because they were so easy of access, they proved unattractive.
She must wander farther afield. She beckoned to a passing hansom.

"I want to go somewhere