May looked at her anxiously, and asked whether she felt
overcome.

"No, papa. I did not know my hand was shaky."

He took it into his, and pressed it. Ethel knew, then, how much had been
undeveloped in her own mind, catching it, as it were, from his touch
and look. The thought of his past joy--the sad fading of hope for
Margaret--the fear and doubt for their present bride--above all, the
sense that the fashion of this world passeth away; and that it is not
the outward scene, but our bearing in it, that is to last for ever.

The bells struck up, each peal ending with a crash that gave Ethel
some vague idea of fatality; and they all came back to the house, where
Margaret was ready, in the drawing-room, to receive them, looking
very pretty, in her soft blue dress, which especially became her fair
complexion and light brown hair. Ethel did not quite like the pink
colour on her cheeks, and feared that she had been shaken by Flora's
agitation in the morning; but she was very calm and bright, in the
affectionate greeting with which she held out her hands to the bride and
bridegroom, as they came in.

Mr. Rivers and Meta were the only guests, and, while Meta was seized
by the children, Margaret lay talking to Mr. Rivers, George standing
upright and silent behind her sofa, like a sentinel. Flora was gone
to change her dress, not giving way, but nervous and hurried, as she
reiterated parting directions about household comforts to Ethel, who
stood by the toilette-table, sticking a pin into the pincushion and
drawing it out again, as if solely intent on making it always fit into
the same hole, while Mary dressed Flora, packed, flew about, and was
useful.

As they came downstairs, Ethel found that Flora was trembling from head
to foot, and leaning on her; Dr. May stood at the foot of the stairs,
and folded his daughter in a long embrace; Flora gave herself up to it
as if she would never bear to leave it. Did a flash come over her then,
what the father was, whom she had held cheaply? what was the worth of
that for which she had exchanged such a home? She spoke not a word, she
only clung tightly--if her heart failed her--it was too late. "Bless
you! my child!" he said at last. "Only be what your mother was!"

A coming tread warned them to part. There was a tray of luncheon for the
two who were about to depart, and the great snow-white cake was waiting
for Flora to cut it. She smiled, accomplished that feat steadily, and
Norman