ke this illness of Anthony's, my dear. The doctor does not
seem to understand it, or at any rate so he pretends, and says he has
no doubt it will pass off. But I cannot help remembering the case of his
brother George; also that of his mother before him.. In short, Barbara,
do you think--well, that it would be wise to marry him? I know that
to break it off would be dreadful, but, you see, health is so very
important."

Barbara turned on her father almost fiercely.

"Whose health?" she asked. "If you mean mine, it is in no danger; and if
it were I should care nothing. What good would health be to me if I lost
Anthony, who is more to me than life? But if you mean his health, then
the greatest happiness I can have is to nurse him."

"Yes, yes, I understand, dear. But, you see, there might be--others."

"If so, father, they must run their risks as we do; that is if there are
any risks for them to run, which I doubt."

"I dare say you are quite right, dear; indeed, I feel almost sure that
you are right, only I thought it my duty to mention the matter, which I
hope you will forgive me for having done. And now I may tell you I have
a letter from Anthony, saying that he is ever so much better, and asking
if the fifteenth of November will suit us for the wedding."

On the fifteenth of November, accordingly, Anthony and Barbara were made
man and wife by the bride's father with the assistance of the clergyman
of the next parish. Owing to the recent death of the bridegroom's
brother and the condition of Mr. Arnott's health the wedding was
extremely quiet. Still, in its own way it was as charming as it was
happy. All her five sisters acted as Barbara's bridesmaids, and many
gathered in that church said they were the most beautiful bevy of
maidens that ever had been seen. But if so, Barbara outshone them all,
perhaps because of her jewels and fine clothes and the radiance on her
lovely face.

Anthony, who seemed to be quite well again, also looked extremely
handsome, while Aunt Thompson, who by now had put off her mourning,
shone in that dim church as the sun shines through a morning mist.

In short, all went as merrily as it should, save that the bride's mother
seemed depressed and wept a little.

This, said her sister to someone in a loud voice, was in her opinion
nothing short of wicked. What business, she asked, has a woman with
six portionless daughters to cry because one of them is making a good
marriage; "though i