hardly leaves me for a moment all day,
and last night, when neither of us could sleep, she came and crept into
my bed to talk to me there. "I shall lose you so soon, Marian," she
said; "I must make the most of you while I can."

They are to be married at Limmeridge Church, and thank Heaven, not one
of the neighbours is to be invited to the ceremony. The only visitor
will be our old friend, Mr. Arnold, who is to come from Polesdean to
give Laura away, her uncle being far too delicate to trust himself
outside the door in such inclement weather as we now have. If I were
not determined, from this day forth, to see nothing but the bright side
of our prospects, the melancholy absence of any male relative of
Laura's, at the most important moment of her life, would make me very
gloomy and very distrustful of the future. But I have done with gloom
and distrust--that is to say, I have done with writing about either the
one or the other in this journal.

Sir Percival is to arrive to-morrow. He offered, in case we wished to
treat him on terms of rigid etiquette, to write and ask our clergyman
to grant him the hospitality of the rectory, during the short period of
his sojourn at Limmeridge, before the marriage. Under the
circumstances, neither Mr. Fairlie nor I thought it at all necessary
for us to trouble ourselves about attending to trifling forms and
ceremonies. In our wild moorland country, and in this great lonely
house, we may well claim to be beyond the reach of the trivial
conventionalities which hamper people in other places. I wrote to Sir
Percival to thank him for his polite offer, and to beg that he would
occupy his old rooms, just as usual, at Limmeridge House.

17th.--He arrived to-day, looking, as I thought, a little worn and
anxious, but still talking and laughing like a man in the best possible
spirits. He brought with him some really beautiful presents in
jewellery, which Laura received with her best grace, and, outwardly at
least, with perfect self-possession. The only sign I can detect of the
struggle it must cost her to preserve appearances at this trying time,
expresses itself in a sudden unwillingness, on her part, ever to be
left alone. Instead of retreating to her own room, as usual, she seems
to dread going there. When I went upstairs to-day, after lunch, to put
on my bonnet for a walk, she volunteered to join me, and again, before
dinner, she threw the door open between our two rooms, so t