ilk that had been occupying them, so
that they only saw the radiance, purity, and innocence of Amy's bridal
appearance. No more was said, for Mr. Edmonstone ran up to call Guy, who
was to drive Charles in the pony-carriage.

Amabel, of course, went with her parents. Poor child! her tears flowed
freely on the way, and Mr. Edmonstone, now that it had really come to
the point of parting with his little Amy, was very much overcome, while
his wife, hardly refraining from tears, could only hold her daughter's
hand very close.

The regular morning service was a great comfort, by restoring their
tranquillity, and by the time it was ended, Amabel's countenance had
settled into its own calm expression of trust and serenity. She scarcely
even trembled when her father led her forward; her hand did not shake,
and her voice, though very low, was firm and audible, while Guy's deep,
sweet tones had a sort of thrill and quiver of intense feeling.

No one could help observing that Laura was the most agitated person
present; she trembled so much that she was obliged to lean on Charlotte,
and her tears gave the infection to the other bridesmaids--all but Mary
Ross, who could never cry when other people did, and little Marianne,
who did nothing but look and wonder.

Mary was feeling a great deal, both of compassion for the bereaved
family and of affectionate admiring joy for the young pair who knelt
before the altar. It was a showery day, with gleams of vivid sunshine,
and one of these suddenly broke forth, casting a stream of colour from a
martyr's figure in the south window, so as to shed a golden glory on the
wave of brown hair over Guy's forehead, then passing on and tinting the
bride's white veil with a deep glowing shade of crimson and purple.

Either that golden light, or the expression of the face on which it
beamed, made Mary think of the lines--

Where is the brow to wear in mortal's sight,
The crown of pure angelic light?

Charles stood with his head leaning against a pillar as if he could not
bear to look up; Mr. Edmonstone was restless and almost sobbing; Mrs.
Edmonstone alone collected, though much flushed and somewhat trembling,
while the only person apparently free from excitement was the little
bride, as there she knelt, her hand clasped in his, her head bent down,
her modest, steadfast face looking as if she was only conscious of
the vow she exchanged, the blessing she received, and was, as it