urroundings!"

"They have not dimmed the virgin gold; you may be sure of that,
Constance," was my reply to this.

"At home, Wednesday evening, June fifteenth."

And this was Tuesday. Only a single day intervened. And yet it seemed
like a week in anticipation, so eager did we grow for the promised
re-union with friends whose memory was in our hearts as the sound of
pleasant music.

It was eight o'clock, on Wednesday evening, when we entered Ivy Cottage,
our hearts beating with quickened strokes under their burden of pleasant
anticipation. What a queenly woman stood revealed to us, as we entered
the little parlor! I would hardly have known her as the almost shrinking
girl from whom we parted not many years before. How wonderfully she had
developed! Figure, face, air, manner, attitude--all showed the woman
of heart, mind, and purpose. Yet, nothing struck you as masculine; but
rather as exquisitely feminine. It took but one glance at her serene
face, to solve the query as to whether there had been a free gift of
heart as well as hand. My eyes turned next to the pale, thin face of
Mrs. Montgomery, who sat, or half reclined, in a large cushioned chair.
She was looking at her daughter. That expression of blended love and
pride, will it ever cease to be a sweet picture in my memory? All was
right--I saw that in the first instant of time.

The reception was not a formal one. There was no display of orange
blossoms, airy veils, and glittering jewels--but a simple welcoming of
a few old friends, who had come to heart-congratulations. It was
the happiest bridal reception--always excepting the one in which my
Constance wore the orange wreath--that I had ever seen. Do you inquire
of Wallingford, as to how he looked and seemed? Worthy of the splendid
woman who stood by his side and leaned towards him with such a sweet
assurance. How beautiful it was to see the proud look with which she
turned her eyes upon him, whenever he spoke! It was plain, that to her,
his words had deeper meanings in them, than came to other ears.

"It is all right, I see." I had drawn a chair close to the one in which
Mrs. Montgomery sat, and was holding in mine the thin, almost shadowy
hand which she had extended.

"Yes, it is all right, Doctor," she answered, as a smile lit up her pale
face. "All right, and I am numbered among the happiest of mothers. He
is not titled, nor rich, nor noble in the vulgar sense--but titled, and
rich, and noble as God give