with you," inquired Miss Sibby.

"No; he couldn't. He had something else to do," replied Roland.

While they talked the one servant woman of Miss Sibby was coming and going
between kitchen and parlor, bringing in dishes of fried chicken and fried
ham, plates of hot biscuits and India cakes, plates of pickles, preserves,
butter, cheese and all that goes to make up the edibles of a rustic tea
table for company.

When the teapot was brought in, last of all, Miss Sibby went to the head
of the board, and heartily invited the guests to be seated.

They accepted without delay. And were soon too busily engaged with their
teacups to carry on the conversation about the wedding. Each one of the
company present could have testified that not one of their number slighted
the delicacies set before them by Miss Sibby.

When tea was over and it was growing dark, Mrs. Hedge and Miss Grandiere
arose to take leave.

Mr. Roland Bayard insisted on seeing them safely through the woods of
Oldfield.

So, when well wrapped up in their warm outer garments, they took leave of
Miss Sibby and her guest, and set out for Oldfield, young Bayard gallantly
escorting the two sisters on their walk, and the negro boy, Dan, leading
the horse on which Rosemary rode.

They reached Oldfield in good time.

Young Bayard declined their invitation to enter, but promised to call
soon, and so bade them good-night at the door.

CHAPTER XX

THE WEDDING DAY

"Mother; Oh, mother! Give me something to help me to go through this
day--something to stupefy--something to deaden me!"

It was Odalite's voice.

She had arisen from a sleepless bed, and come into her mother's room as
soon as she had heard her father leave it.

She was, perhaps, the whitest, coldest, saddest bride that had ever seen a
wedding morn.

Mrs. Force was standing before her dressing-glass, engaged in braiding her
own bright hair. She turned and looked at her daughter again, with the
often-recurring thought:

"Yes, yes, if it were not for her father's sake, I would rather dress my
child for her burial than for this bridal."

She took the girl in her arms and kissed her, asking tenderly:

"What is it, dear?"

"Mother, I don't know. I dare not trust myself to go through with to-day's
work. I have such strange, wild, mad risings in my heart, in my nerves, in
my brain! I want something to overpower all this, and keep it down."

"My poor, poor darling! Oh, if I could suffer i