ldness of the proposal.

'Quite sufficiently. You can say, if necessary, that you were married to
him at the church of St. Michael, in Bath City, in my name, as the first
that occurred to you, to escape detection. That was where he married me.
I will support you in this.'

'Oh--I don't quite like--'

'If you will do so,' said the lady peremptorily, 'I will always be your
father's friend and yours; if not, it will be otherwise. And I will give
you my wedding-ring, which you shall wear as yours.'

'Have you worn it, my lady?'

'Only at night.'

There was not much choice in the matter, and Milly consented. Then this
noble lady took from her bosom the ring she had never been able openly to
exhibit, and, grasping the young girl's hand, slipped it upon her finger
as she stood upon her lover's grave.

Milly shivered, and bowed her head, saying, 'I feel as if I had become a
corpse's bride!'

But from that moment the maiden was heart and soul in the substitution. A
blissful repose came over her spirit. It seemed to her that she had
secured in death him whom in life she had vainly idolized; and she was
almost content. After that the lady handed over to the young man's new
wife all the little mementoes and trinkets he had given herself; even to
a locket containing his hair.

The next day the girl made her so-called confession, which the simple
mourning she had already worn, without stating for whom, seemed to bear
out; and soon the story of the little romance spread through the village
and country-side, almost as far as Melchester. It was a curious
psychological fact that, having once made the avowal, Milly seemed
possessed with a spirit of ecstasy at her position. With the liberal sum
of money supplied to her by Lady Caroline she now purchased the garb of a
widow, and duly appeared at church in her weeds, her simple face looking
so sweet against its margin of crape that she was almost envied her state
by the other village-girls of her age. And when a woman's sorrow for her
beloved can maim her young life so obviously as it had done Milly's there
was, in truth, little subterfuge in the case. Her explanation tallied so
well with the details of her lover's latter movements--those strange
absences and sudden returnings, which had occasionally puzzled his
friends--that nobody supposed for a moment that the second actor in these
secret nuptials was other than she. The actual and whole truth would
indeed have seem