e sweetness, "a
little reflection will convince you that this day ought not to be one of
mourning. It was the suspense that has so worn out our hearts. If he is
acquitted, as we all believe and trust, think how appropriate will be
the outward seeming of our joy! If not, why I shall go before him to our
marriage home, and in marriage garments. Ay," she added after a moment's
pause, and with a much more grave, settled, and intense expression of
voice and countenance--"ay; do you remember how Eugene once told us,
that if we went at noonday to the bottom of a deep pit, [Note: The
remark is in Aristotle. Buffon quotes it, with his usual adroit
felicity, in, I think, the first volume of his great work.] we should be
able to see the stars, which on the level ground are invisible. Even so,
from the depths of grief--worn, wretched, seared, and dying--the blessed
apparitions and tokens of Heaven make themselves visible to our eyes.
And I know--I have seen--I feel here," pressing her hand on her heart,
"that my course is run; a few sands only are left in the glass. Let
us waste them bravely. Stay, Ellinor! You see these poor withered
rose-leaves: Eugene gave them to me the day before--before that fixed
for our marriage. I shall wear them to-day, as I would have worn them on
the wedding-day. When he gathered the poor flower, how fresh it was; and
I kissed off the dew: now see it! But, come, come; this is trifling: we
must not be late. Help me, Nell, help me: come, bustle, quick, quick!
Nay, be not so slovenly; I told you I would be dressed with care
to-day."

And when Madeline was dressed, though the robe sat loose and in large
folds over her shrunken form, yet, as she stood erect, and looked with
a smile that saddened Ellinor more than tears at her image in the
glass, perhaps her beauty never seemed of a more striking and lofty
character,--she looked indeed, a bride, but the bride of no earthly
nuptials. Presently they heard an irresolute and trembling step at the
door, and Lester knocking, asked if they were prepared.

"Come in, father," said Madeline, in a calm and even cheerful voice; and
the old man entered.

He cast a silent glance over Madeline's white dress, and then at his
own, which was deep mourning: the glance said volumes, and its meaning
was not marred by words from any one of the three.

"Yes, father," said Madeline, breaking the pause,--"We are all ready. Is
the carriage here?"

"It is at the door, my child."