to the ceremony. The afternoon was far
advanced, and the landscape lay breathless beneath the golden burden
of the lavish sun. The bridegroom rose to his feet; surely the bride
must be ready! Was that strange old Nurse delaying her? Did she
herself procrastinate? Balder was waxing impatient!

The clear outcry of the hoopoe startled the calm air, and that good
little messenger came fluttering in haste to the window. Bound its
neck was twined a golden dandelion,--Gnulemah's love-token! With a
knowing upturn of its bright little eye, the bird submitted to being
robbed of its decoration; then warbled a keen good-by, and flew away.

The lover behaved as foolishly towards the dandelion as a lover
should. At last he drew the stem through the button-hole of his
velveteen jacket, and was ready to answer in person the shy invitation
it conveyed. The bride waited!

His hand was on the latch, when some one knocked. He threw open the
door,--and had to look twice before recognizing Nurse. Her dingy
anomalous drapery had been exchanged for another sort of costume. Her
scars strove to be hidden beneath the yellow lace and crumpled
feathers of an antique head-dress. She wore a satin gown of an old
fashion, whose pristine whiteness was much impaired by time. An aged
fan, ragged, but of tasteful pattern, dangled at her wrist. She
resembled some forgotten Ginevra, reappearing after an age's seclusion
in the oaken chest. Her aspect was painfully repellent, the more for
this pathetic attempt at good looks. The former unlovely garb had a
sort of fitness to the blasted features; but so soon as she forsook
that uncanny harmony and tried to be like other women, she became
undesirably conspicuous.

"The bridesmaid!" came to Balder's lips,--but did not pass them. He
would not hurt the poor creature's feelings by the betrayal of
surprise or amusement. She was a woman,--and Gnulemah was no more.
According to his love for his wife, must he be tender and gentle
towards her sex.

When, therefore, Nurse gave him to understand that she was to marshal
him to the altar, Balder, never more heroic than at that moment,
offered her his arm, which she accepted with an air of scarecrow
gentility. Either the change of costume had struck in, or it was the
symbol of inward change. She seemed struggling against her torpor, her
dimness and deadness. She tried, perhaps, to recall the day when that
dress was first put on,--the day of Helen's marriage, when Salom