, but I wish some one to wear it, and would like it to
be worn by a Mrs. Locke Harper."

Agatha blushed crimson. Nathanael looked delighted. Neither noticed
Anne Valery; who, her passing colour having sunk into a still deeper
paleness, quietly returned to her seat, and soon after quitted the
house.

CHAPTER IX.

It was a most unconscionably early hour on the wedding morning when Mrs.
Thornycroft, who had insisted on mounting guard overnight in Bedford
Square, to see that all things were made ready to go off "merry as a
marriage bell," came into Agatha's room and roused the bride.

"I never knew such a thing in all my life! Well, he is the most
extraordinary young man! What is to be done, my dear?"

"What--what?" said Agatha, waking, with a confused notion that something
very dreadful had happened, or was going to happen. She recollected that
this day on which she so early opened her eyes was some day of great
solemnity. It seemed so like that of her father's funeral.

"Don't be frightened, love. Nothing has occurred; only there is Mr.
Harper in the parlour below, wanting to speak with you. I never heard of
such a request from a bridegroom. It is contrary to all rules of common
sense and decorum."

"Hush!" said Agatha, trying to collect her thoughts. "Tell me exactly
his message."

"That he wished to speak with you at once, before you dress for church;
and will wait for you in the dining-room. What--you are not going to
do as he desires?--I wouldn't! One should never _obey_ till after
marriage."

Agatha made no answer, but composedly began to dress. In a few minutes
she had once more put on the mourning, laid aside as she thought for
ever the night before, and had gone down-stairs to her bridegroom.

He was standing in the only available corner of the room not occupied
by a chaotic mass of hymeneal preparations, and gazing vacantly out
into the square, where the trees cast the long shadows of early morning,
while the merry little sparrows kept up a perpetual din.

As the door moved, Mr. Harper turned round. He had a sickly, worn look,
as if he had scarcely slept all night, and in his manner was a strange
mingling of trouble and of joy.

"Agatha--how kind! I ought to apologise," he began, taking both her
hands. "But no! I cannot."

"Nothing is wrong? No misfortune happened?"

"Misfortune? God forbid! Surely I do not look as if it were a
misfortune? I am only too glad--too happy. Whatever results fr