forgive,'
said Charles.

Philip Morville and Laura Edmonstone stood before Mr. Ross. It was not
such a wedding as the last. There was more personal beauty, but no such
air of freshness, youth, and peace. He was, indeed, a very fine-looking
man, his countenance more noble than it had ever been, though pale and
not only betraying the present suffering of the throbbing, burning brow,
but with the appearance of a care-worn, harassed man, looking more as if
his age was five-and-thirty than eight-and-twenty. And she, in her plain
white muslin and quiet bonnet, was hardly bridal-looking in dress, and
so it was with her face, still beautiful and brilliant in complexion,
but with the weight of care permanent on it, and all the shades of
feeling concealed by a fixed command of countenance, unable, however, to
hide the oppression of dejection and anxiety.

Yet to the eyes that only beheld the surface, there was nothing but
prosperity and happiness in a marriage between a pair who had loved so
long and devotedly, and after going through so much for each other's
sake, were united at length, with wealth, honour, and distinction before
them. His health was re-established, and the last spring had proved
that his talents would place him in such a position as had been the
very object of his highest hopes. Was not everything here for which the
fondest and most aspiring wishes could seek? Yet for the very reason
that there was sadness at almost every heart, not one tear was shed.
Mrs. Edmonstone's thoughts were less engrossed with the bride than with
the young slender figure in black, standing in her own drooping way,
her head bent down, and the fingers of her right hand clasping tight her
wedding-ring, through her white glove.

The service was over. Laura hung round her mother's neck in an ardent
embrace.

'Your pardon! O, mamma, I see it all now!'

Poor thing! she had too much failed in a daughter's part to go forth
from her home with the clear, loving, hopeful heart her sister had
carried from it! Mrs. Edmonstone's kiss was a full answer, however, a
kiss unlike what it had been with all her efforts for many and many a
month.

'Amy, pray that it may not be visited!' were the last words breathed to
her sister, as they were pressed in each other's arms.

Philip scarcely spoke, only met their kindnesses with grateful gestures
and looks, and brief replies, and the parting was hastened that he might
as soon as possible be at rest. Hi