nitely gloomy and hopeless. It was now a
reality, full of hope, gladness, and all manner of good. My home had
been like a tomb; to-day it was Paradise. My heart had been as though
it had not existed; to-day it beat with strength and youth and the
certainty of realized happiness. I revelled in the beauty of the
world, and called loveliness out of the future to enjoy it before time
should bring it to me, as a traveller in the plains looks up to the
mountains, and already tastes the cool air through the dust of the road.

Here, I thought, we will live and live for years. There we will sit by
the fountain towards evening and in the deep moonlight. Down those
paths we will wander together. On those benches we will rest and talk.
Among those eastern hills we will ride through the soft twilight, and
in the old house we will tell tales on winter nights, when the logs
burn high, and the holly berries are red, and the old clock tolls out
the dying year. On these old steps, in these dark passages and stately
rooms, there will one day be the sound of little pattering feet, and
laughing child-voices will ring up to the vaults of the ancient hall.
Those tiny footsteps shall not be slow and sad as mine were, nor shall
the childish words be spoken in an awed whisper. No gloomy Welshwoman
shall people the dusky corners with weird horrors, nor utter horrid
prophecies of death and ghastly things. All shall be young, and fresh,
and joyful, and happy, and we will turn the old luck again, and forget
that there was ever any sadness.

So I thought, as I looked out of my window that morning and for many
mornings after that, and every day it all seemed more real than ever
before, and much nearer. But the old nurse looked at me askance, and
muttered odd sayings about the Woman of the Water. I cared little what
she said, for I was far too happy.

At last the time came near for the wedding. Lady Bluebell and all the
tribe of Bluebells, as Margaret called them, were at Bluebell Grange,
for we had determined to be married in the country, and to come
straight to the Castle afterwards. We cared little for travelling, and
not at all for a crowded ceremony at St George's in Hanover Square,
with all the tiresome formalities afterwards. I used to ride over to
the Grange every day, and very often Margaret would come with her aunt
and some of her consuls to the Castle. I was suspicious of my own
taste, and was only too glad to let her have