"For me? are you sure?" I asked.

"Miss Annie Aston, Thorn Cottage, Ilton,
is on it, miss; so I think it's for you." Of
course there was but one person in the wide
world would send anything to me. I sat
down in the parlour window-seat, and took
off my gloves, my bonnet, my shawl, deliberately,
before I proceeded to examine its
contents.

Mary considerately had it uncorded by the
man who brought it. I opened it at last,
and Aunt Aston proceeded to examine the
contained treasures. I found a letter on
the top, and was fully occupied with that.
These things were " for my little wife, whom
I have a right to bury under heaps of finery
if I choose, and if I could bear to have her
out of my sight; and who has no right to
wave gifts of her husband's away with any
proud flourishes of her little white hand," the
letter said.

Harold had commissioned a lady-friend, a
friend of his mother's, to choose these things
for him, describing to her the little person
whose wearing was to endear them. They
were well enough chosen, yet rather too gay
perhaps, and much too costly, I thought.

I stood musing, my letter in my hand,
turning over with my foot quite absently the
heap of treasures Aunt Aston was examining.
I was doing mischief; my shoe was dusty,
and with it I was touching a white lace
something. Aunt called out to me, and
then I roused myself, and listened to her
comments.

"Annie, I'm afraid Mr. Warden is extravagant,
dear; you must talk to him about it.
How beautiful this is! We must send that
to be made up—the coach passes our door
this evening at six; you must choose what
you will send. Did you see this brooch and
bracelet—pearl and amethyst!—is it not
pretty? You must be married in this; it is
lovely! How you will astonish the people
in the village! and the church is quite the
other end of it. How will you get there?—
there will be such a crowd! My dear child,
what will you do with all these things?"

"Look here, aunt," I said. I had found a
little separate packet of silk and ribbons, all
of a pretty sober colour, on which was
written, " For Miss Aston (Annie's aunt)."

"How very kind and thoughtful he is,"
aunt exclaimed.

"Of course he is, auntie dear," I said,
proudly, my heart swelling with happiness.
"The poor dress I had meant for you is
thrown into the shade."

We made a selection from among my
abundance, and despatched a large parcel to
Hard by the coach that evening. Among the
variety I had found one dress fit for Mary's
wearing, and by presenting her with which I
quite won. her heart.

My unrestful spirit was beginning to weary
of Thorn Cottage at the close of the fortnight.
The low, rich, lovely country even, became
tedious, as I had nothing to do but enjoy it.
I longed for hill-climbing, and most intensely
for that great treat Harold had promised me,
being by and on the sea. I was tired of
dreaming over my needle-work, in my long
walks, in the hay-fields, in the night-time—
dreams I had no one to share: my spirit was
thirsting to taste the communion, the perfect
sympathy, which I fancied was to take all the
pain of over-fulness from my soul for the
future. My aunt could only sigh and smile,
warn me not to hope too much, and caution
me that in marriage, no doubt, as in every
temporal estate, there was much to endure
as well as much to enjoy. " Not hope too
much! " I startled her one day by passionately
exclaiming, " Was there then no joy in
life? My past had been bitter enough to
give me a right to demand joy for my future."
My aunt began a tearful and prayerful and
tender little lecture on meekness, and
patience, and trust; but I could not bear it
then, and went away with a perturbed spirit.
I sat in my window up-stairs till it grew
dusk enough for the moonlight to show its
power. I had found a sweet thought before
I had sat there long. Harold my one friend,
hope, joy—my life, my very life—was coming
to-morrow. And I had forgotten all doubt
and anger at the one who raised it, and had
sat long smiling out into the moonlight, and
hugging my happiness, when my aunt came
timidly in. She had a candle in her hand; I
thought she had been crying. " He is coming
to-morrow, to-morrow! " I whispered, as we
bade each other a very loving good-night. I
lit the candle she brought me from her's,
soon to put it out, for I liked the moonlight-streaked
dimness.

Next day, aunt was much more fluttered
and nervously expectant than I. Then she
was so full of business, too! though what she
had to do, I could not tell.

Her dress was home, fitted admirably, and
became her very well. Everything of mine
that I cared to have then was ready: it
seemed to me that we might sit down and
wait quietly.

I forgot to say that I had made the acquaintance
of my aunt's polite friend, Mr.
Swayne. He was a widower; his wife had
been my aunt's schoolfellow and one
particular friend; so there was the intimacy of
almost relationship established between them.
He was to be present at our marriage, giving
me away, and at his house Harold would
sleep the one night of his stay in Ilton.

While my aunt fluttered and flitted about
the house, up-stairs and down, and in and out
the kitchen, I did what I could; filled every
glass and vase I could find with fresh flowers,
took the covers, at my aunt's request, from
the pretty furniture, and superintended the
hanging of snowy muslin curtains in the
windows; then there was no more to be
done anywhere, I was sure.