blessing of God will descend on you,
Bertram, and on the young girl whom you will call your wife to-day. Give
me your hand. Come."

Bertram went.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE BRIDE!

Miss Peters was lying in sound slumber, and Mrs. Butler, with a wet
sponge in her hand, was standing over the little spinster's bed.

"Maria," she said, in her sharp voice. And at the same moment the sponge
descended with unerring aim on the sleeper's upturned face.

"Good heavens--fire--water! What is it?--I'm drowning--" gasped Miss
Peters.

She raised her eyes, choked, for her mouth had been open, and some of
the contents of the sponge had got in, and then surveyed her sister in
trepidation.

"Oh, Martha, it's you. How you frightened me!"

"I only applied the sponge," replied Mrs. Butler. "It's an old-fashioned
remedy for inordinate drowsiness, and effectual."

"But surely, surely--I feel as if I had only just dropped to sleep."

"Maria, it's five o'clock."

"Five! What do you mean, Martha? Am I to be accused of inordinate
sleepiness at five in the morning?"

"On this morning you are. This is the wedding morning--get up, dress
yourself. Put on your bridal finery, and join me in the parlor."

Mrs. Butler left the room. Miss Peters rubbed her sleepy eyes again.

"The wedding morning! and my bridal finery!" she murmured. "One would
think poor Sam had never been drowned. I don't think Martha has any
heart. She knows how I suffered about Sam. He certainly never proposed
for me, but he was attentive--yes, he was attentive, and I--I suffered.
It's thirty years now since he was drowned. Martha oughtn't to forget.
People have no memories in these days."

The little lady began to put on her garments.

"It does seem extraordinarily early to have to get up, even though Bee
is to be married at eleven o'clock to-day," she murmured. "Certainly,
Martha is a most masterful person. Well, I don't mind so much, as it is
for Bee's sake."

Miss Peters proceeded with her toilet, took tenderly out of its folds of
camphor and white linen, a little antiquated brown silk dress, put it
on, crossed over her shoulders a neat fichu of white lace, mounted her
bonnet, composed of a piece of silk, which she had artfully removed from
the skirt of her dress. This bonnet was trimmed with three enormous
lemon-colored chrysanthemums, and was further embellished with a pink
ruching, which surrounded the good lady's face.

Miss Peters almost trembled a