and Kennedy, with Owen, Lillyston, and De
Vayne, were strolling up and down a pretty, retired laurel walk behind
the church. Hearing where they were, the boys, accompanied by their
aunt, boldly invaded their privacy, and reached the end of the walk just
as the gentlemen were approaching to enter the church.

"Good gracious! Lady Vinsear!" said De Vayne.

"Hush, hush!" she said. "Come here, Julian, and kiss your old aunt, and
welcome her on your wedding-day, and don't think of bygones. I am proud
to see you, my boy;" and he felt a tear on his cheek as the old lady
drew down his head to kiss him.

"And now," she said, "don't tell any of the rest that I have come till
after the marriage. I hear the sound of wheels. Put me in some pew
near the altar, Julian, that I may have a good long look at your bride,
and Violet's bridegroom."

They had just time to fulfil her wish when the carriages drove up, and
the bridal procession formed, and, followed by their bride's-maids,
Violet and Eva passed up the aisle, in all their loveliness, with
wreaths of myrtle and orange-flower round their fair foreheads, and
long, graceful veils, and simple ornaments of pearl.

Beautiful to see! A bride always looks beautiful, but these two were
radiant and exquisite in their loveliness. Which was the fairest? I
cannot tell. Most men would have given the golden apple to Eva, with
the sweet, tender grace that played about her young features, almost
infantile in their delicacy, and with those bright, beaming,
laughter-loving eyes, of which the light could not be hid though she
bent her face downwards to hide the bridal blush that tinged it; but yet
they would have doubted about the decision when they turned from her to
the full flower of Violet's beauty, and gazed on her perfect face, so
enchanting in its meekness, and on that one tress of golden hair that
played upon her neck.

De Vayne, as he looked on the perfect scene, took out a piece of paper,
and wrote on it Spenser's lines:--

"Behold, while she before the altar stands,
Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks
And blesses her with his two happy hands,
How the red roses flush up in her cheeks
And the pure snow with golden vermeil stain,
Like crimson dyed in grain."

He handed the lines to Lillyston and Owen, and they saw from the happy
smile upon his face that no touch of regret or envy marred his present
meditations.

Has life any pleasure--any deep, unspo