ceremony, which I regret that I cannot relate in full.  “Helen looked like an angel,”—­that, I am sure, was one of his expressions.  As for her dress, I should like to give the details, but am afraid of committing blunders, as men always do, when they undertake to describe such matters.  White dress, anyhow,—­that I am sure of,—­with orange-flowers, and the most wonderful lace veil that was ever seen or heard of.  The Reverend Doctor Honeywood performed the ceremony, of course.  The good people seemed to have forgotten they ever had had any other minister,—­except Deacon Shearer and his set of malecontents, who were doing a dull business in the meeting-house lately occupied by the Reverend Mr. Fairweather.

“Who was at the wedding?”

“Everybody, pretty much.  They wanted to keep it quiet, but it was of no use.  Married at church.  Front pews, old Doctor Kittredge and all the mansion-house people and distinguished strangers,—­Colonel Sprowle and family, including Matilda’s young gentleman, a graduate of one of the fresh-water colleges,—­Mrs. Pickins (late Widow Rowens) and husband,—­Deacon Soper and numerous parishioners.  A little nearer the door, Abel, the Doctor’s man, and Elbridge, who drove them to church in, the family-coach.  Father Fairweather, as they all call him now, came in late, with Father McShane.”

“And Silas Peckham?”

“Oh, Silas had left The School and Rockland.  Cut up altogether too badly in the examination instituted by the Trustees.  Had moved over to Tamarack, and thought of renting a large house and ‘farming’ the town-poor.”

* * * * *

Some time after this, as I was walking with a young friend along by the swell-fronts and south-exposures, whom should I see but Mr. Bernard Langdon, looking remarkably happy, and keeping step by the side of a very handsome and singularly well-dressed young lady?  He bowed and lifted his hat as we passed.

“Who is that pretty girl my young doctor has got there?” I said to my companion.

“Who is that?” he answered.  “You don’t know?  Why, that is neither more nor less than Miss Letitia Forester, daughter of—­of—­why, the great banking-firm, you know, Bilyuns Brothers & Forester.  Got acquainted with her in the country, they say.  There’s a story that they’re engaged, or like to be, if the firm consents.”

“Oh!” I said.

I did not like the look of it in the least.  Too young,—­too young.  Has not taken any position yet.  No right to ask for the hand of Bilyuns Brothers & Co.’s daughter.  Besides, it will spoil him for practice, if he marries a rich girl before he has formed habits of work.

I looked in at his office the next day.  A box of white kids was lying open on the table.  A three-cornered note, directed in a very delicate lady’s-hand, was distinguishable among a heap of papers.  I was just going to call him to account for his proceedings, when he pushed the three-cornered note aside and took up a letter with a great corporation-seal upon it.  He had received the offer of a professor’s chair in an ancient and distinguished institution.