e girl shrank not from the task which
the stern voice of duty had assigned. She would bear it without a
murmur. None save Mary Douglas should know the depths of feeling of
which her nature was capable. Gerald Bereford would acknowledge the
daily attention of a kind and dutiful wife. No human being should know a
secret that was to her more than life--a soul within--a burning,
smouldering fire, around which clings the shuddering form of outraged
Hope. Lady Rosamond has kept her secret, therefore the writer will keep
it in respect to her ladyship's inward sanctity. The reader may have
gained it; if not, dear reader, you will in the end be rewarded for your
patience by a disclosure. In the meantime let us follow her ladyship
through all the perplexing moments of her unhappy existence, admiring
the true courage and grateful sentiments which sustain her.

The day appointed for the eventful ceremony had arrived. Cards of
invitation having been issued to the most distinguished nobility
throughout the kingdom, a vast assemblage of expectant guests filled the
seats and aisles of the ancient gothic cathedral in which the marriage
was about to be solemnized. Happy smiles beamed upon all faces as they
glanced around the handsome edifice so beautifully decorated for the
occasion. Flowers and garlands were lavishly strewn around, scattered
upon the floor, upon the steps, upon the way-side; literally all space
was crowned with flowers. Gerald Bereford was truly a prepossessing
bridegroom, worthy of loving and being loved in return. His truthful
countenance was beaming with manly love. He was now ready to pronounce
those vows which in his heart met a ready response. Lady Rosamond and
her train of lovely bridesmaids have arrived. Hundreds of spectators are
anxious to catch a passing glimpse of the beautiful bride as she is led
to the altar by Sir Thomas Seymour, who gazes with loving tenderness
upon the object so soon to be taken from his heart and home.

The feverish flush of excitement upon the transparent complexion of the
bride lent additional aid to her matchless charms. Lady Rosamond is
indeed a creature of surpassing loveliness. The soft texture of white
satin that floats in bewitching folds of drapery around the faultless
form is heightened in effect by an intermixture of costly lace and
flashing jewels. The bridal veil, with its coronet of diamonds and
orange blossoms, conceals the features so passive in the efforts to
conceal