ntervals slants through the painted
windows.

Stronger nerves than Netta's have been shaken by a thunderstorm on a
wedding-day. Even Howel involuntarily quails at this evil omen, and Mrs
Jenkins clasps her hands and mutters a Welsh proverb. She and Netta had
been congratulating each other on the sunshine of the morning, and such
a storm was bad indeed.

However, the service proceeds, and then he who addresses the
newly-married pair in God's name, makes himself heard in spite of the
pattering hail. He seems the more impressive as he cannot but remark
Howel's frowning brow and Netta's agitation.

It is a relief to all the wedding-party when the last words are spoken
and Howel leads his bride into the vestry. By this time tears are
running fast down her pale cheeks, and Howel's efforts at encouragement,
and the warm kiss he gives her, fail to dry them; Sir John Simpson's
fatherly embrace rather serves to increase than diminish the emotion,
and poor Netta is conscious that Howel must be very displeased.

She mutters something about her great fear of lightning and thunder;
signs her name even more stragglingly than usual, and is at last led by
Howel through the church to the carriage.

'I don't wonder she is frightened and nervous,' says Miss Simpson? 'I am
sure I should have fainted if such a storm had come on at my marriage.
It is--'

'Nonsense!' exclaims Howel, somewhat rudely, as they drive quickly
through Jermyn Street, up St James's Street, down Piccadilly, and into
Half Moon Street, without much farther conversation, whilst the storm
rolls on. Netta hurries upstairs and gives way to a burst of sobs and
tears; Howel follows, and knowing the best way to console her, takes her
in his arms, and having told her that she is his own little wife now,
begs her to remember all the grand things they are going to do.

'You are a great lady now, Netta. We must astonish the little people
down in Wales. Think of Paris, and that Lady Nugent and Miss Rice Rice,
and all your old rivals will hear of your being there, and soon see you
return smarter and richer than any one,'

'But the storm, cousin Howel! All those solemn words! I am frightened to
death!'

'Silly little Netta! what has the storm to do with you and me? All our
prosperity and happiness are beginning.'

'But they say, "Blessed is the bride the sun shines on," and that
thunder and lightning are such a bad omen.'

'Don't be'--a fool, Howel was going to say, but