a look upon his brother, which the other
understood in a moment.

It was all over—the enmity of years was
gone. In half an hour the younger brother was
with Mrs. Winter and her daughter, pouring
out his soul in a torrent of delight and
gratitude.

"You have taken a load from my heart, my
dear child," he said. "You are an angel, and I
shall never forget it. I am so happy."

"Not more than I am, Cousin Edward," she
said; "and do you know why? Some one gave
me to-night the finest present I have got as yet
—finer even than Mr. Blenkinsop's beautiful
horse."

"I am so glad to hear it," he said, "and I
hope there will be many more. I shall look out
for one to exceed that."

"Don't you see, Edward," said Mrs. Winter,
smiling, "what she means?"

"Ah! now I do. But she shall not lose her
present for that. I am so happy. You have
done for me what I have been trying to do for
years. It was no use; and though I pleaded
hard, and showed him that I had really done
nothing, or very little to deserve his resentment,
and was heartily penitent for that; but my letters
were all returned to me and never opened.
But he had this idea, that I hated him and his
family, after what he had done. But he is so
noble, so generous—he has behaved so nobly;
and from this moment I must only strive to find
some way to show him how I love and honour
him."

"Where is he?" said Mrs. Winter, rising. "I
must run. What a happy night we shall have
of it."

But they found he was not so well—not well
enough, he said, to come down and join them
at dinner. "It is great folly, I know, but I can
hardly help it. In the evening I will try. Poor
Edward, I have done him sad injustice. Will
you say it to him again? You recollect what I
said to you and to Lucy—that he hates me and
my boy. It was a shocking slander. I thought
so, but I had no reason to think so. Must atone
for all this," he added, wearily. "Give my love
and affection to the pretty bride, and tell her
I am only nursing myself for the morning."

It was indeed a happy morning. Lucy was
in a chronic impetuosity, stopping short
suddenly at intervals to call out, " I am so happy!"
And she told Captain Hallam pleasantly and
very plainly, that he need not take this access
of spirits to his account; that it was for a totally
different matter, and for the sake of her dear
cousin, the colonel, whom she loved; a declaration
the captain received without the least signs
of disturbance or jealousy.

They all knew Edward Howard, and had
known him for long; yet they had never seen
him in such buoyant humour. He was one of
those frank, open spirits, so welcome and so
useful to girls—with whom they do not fall in love,
but whom they like—for these brave honest
fellows are always doing them some kind and
friendly office, never easy unless employed, and
often despatched up to town or down to country
on half a day's journey. He was ready to find
a horse, trained for a lady, on a moment's notice,
and do a hundred other "good-natured" things.
Yet he was not "soft."

This scene, reposing as it seemed, basking as
it were in a softened mellow light, was often to
be looked back to; that gay drawing-room, full
of beaming and happy faces. They had little
games, that almost verged on romping, at least
where the "little man" was concerned, who
was screaming and crowing with delight, hiding
behind cushions and sofas, and burying his
little face in ladies' skirts. He told his day's
adventures again and again, and spoke with
rapture of those wonderful instruments, the screwing
and mechanical arrangements of which had
penetrated him with delight and admiration. He
had never seen such a world of apparatus, and
the doctor this very night, taking him by the
shoulders, had sworn he should go over to-morrow
and assist at certain unscrewings and oilings
which were to take place. He sang them various
songs, and, on a general demand, stood up in the
middle and again gave "MULLIGAN'S WEDDIN',"
with entire approbation. It was noticed that,
whenever he mentioned the name of that Irish
bridegroom, his little eye wandered roguishly to
the captain, who. affected to be overcome with
bashfulness at such public notice. Occasionally
he assumed a grave face of responsibility, and
stole away to have a private interview with his
papa, coming back with a little air of decent
solemnity, saying, "I do not like the way papa
is in." But he soon freshened up into gaiety
again, until eleven o'clock came, and with it
Andy's curious face appeared at the door, with
his unconcerned, "Now, Master Friddy, it's
time for you."

CHAPTER VI. THE WEDDING.

HERE was now the morning of the wedding,
as sunny a morning as "though it were bespoke,
Glory be to God," to use Andy's remark and
blessing. How bright the day was, and how
bright and gay looked the deep red and green
of the little place. Inside there was flutter,
but delightful flutter—kissing, smiles, tears, and
kissing again.

Colonel Howard is down betimes, but every
one notices his face, and sees at once that he
should be in his room. There is a great change
in his looks within these two days, but he said
he was well. But Andy, who had a sort of
festive air himself, was heard to say, " he hoped
it would be all right to-morrow next day"—a
misgiving which was to be realised presently. Yet,
with a generous foresight, the colonel had not
lost time; and on the night before a messenger
had been sent up to town, with a letter to the
chief jeweller, and who returned betimes with a
superb casket. As Lucy came to him, about
eleven, in her bridal dress, all lace and white
silk and white flowers, he put this into her hand.
"This," he said, "is but a poor token of what
I feel to you, and for what you did last night.