re with his mother, did
long to come out to the voices he could hear plain enough, even as
far off as that! But then he had been so long away to-day, and he
knew his excellent parent always liked to finish the tale of her own
wedding-day when she began it--as she often did. So he listened again
to the story of the wedding, which was celebrated in the severest
thunderstorm experienced in these islands since the days of
Queen Elizabeth, by a heroic clergyman who was suffering from
pleuro-pneumonia, which made his voice inaudible till a miraculous
chance produced one of Squilby's cough lozenges (which are not to be
had now for love or money), and cured him on the spot. And how the
bridesmaids all had mumps, more or less. And much concerning the
amazingly dignified appearance of her own father and mother, which
was proverbial, and therefore no matter of surprise to any one, the
proverb being no doubt well known to Europe.

But there, it didn't matter! Sally would be there to-morrow.

CHAPTER XXX

HOW A FORTNIGHT PASSED, AND THE HONEYMOONERS RETURNED. OF A CHAT ON
THE BEACH, AND MISS ARKWRIGHT'S SCIENTIFIC EXPERIENCE. ALMOST THE
LAST, LAST, LAST--MAN'S HEAD!

Sally to-morrow--and to-morrow--and to-morrow. Sally for fourteen
morrows. And the moon that had lighted the devoted young man to his
fate--whatever it was to be--had waned and left the sky clear for
a new one, on no account to be seen through glass.

They were morrows of inextinguishable, indescribable delight for their
victims or victim--for how shall we classify Sally? Who shall tread
the inner temple of a girl's mind? How shall it be known that she
herself has the key to the Holy of Holies?--that she is not dwelling
in the outer court, unconscious of her function of priestess, its
privileges and responsibilities? Or, in plainer language, metaphors
having been blowed in obedience to a probable wish of the reader's,
how do we know Sally was not falling in love with the doctor? How do
we know she was not in love with him already? How did _she_ know?

All we know is that the morrows went on, each one sweeter than the
last, and all the little incidents went on that were such nothings at
the time, but were so sure to be borne in mind for ever! _You_ know
all about it, you who read. Like enough you can remember now, old as
you are, how you and she (or he, according as your sex is) got lost
in the wood, and never found where the picnic had come to an anch