On first raising her eyes upon the conclusion of the ceremony, had Elsie really seen, far back in the shadow of the doorway, a face white, rigid, hopeless with misery as his when last they met and parted?  She could not tell; for if really there, it vanished instantly.

“Did Harold come?” she asked of Richard when he came to salute the bride and groom.

“I think not; I haven’t seen him, I can’t think what’s come over the lad to be so neglectful of his privileges.”

Harry Duncan was there, too, hanging upon the smiles of merry, saucy, blue-eyed May Allison; while her brother Richard seemed equally enamored with the brunette beauty and sprightliness of Lottie King.

Stiffness and constraint found no place among the guests, after the event of the evening was over.

In the great dining-room a sumptuous banquet was laid; and thither, after a time, guests and entertainers repaired.

The table sparkled with cut-glass, rare and costly china, and solid silver and gold plate.  Every delicacy from far and near was to be found upon it; nothing wanting that the most fastidious could desire, or the most lavish expenditure furnish.  Lovely, fragrant flowers were there also in the utmost profusion, decorating the board, festooning the windows and doorways, in bouquets upon the mantels and antique stands, scattered here and there through the apartment, filling the air with their perfume; while a distant and unseen band discoursed sweetest music in soft, delicious strains.

The weather was warmer far than at that season in our northern clime, the outside air balmy and delightful, and through the wide-open doors and windows glimpses might be caught of the beautiful grounds, lighted here and there by a star-like lamp shining out among the foliage.  Silent and deserted they had been all the earlier part of the evening, but now group after group, as they left the bountiful board, wandered into their green alleys and gay parterres; low, musical tones, light laughter, and merry jests floating out upon the quiet night air and waking the echoes of the hills.

But the bride retired to her own apartments, where white satin, veil, and orange blossoms, were quickly exchanged for an elegant traveling dress, scarcely less becoming to her rare beauty.

She reappeared in the library, which had not been thrown open to the guests, but where the relations and bridesmaids were gathered for the final good-bye.

Mr. Dinsmore’s family carriage, roomy, easy-rolling, and softly cushioned, stood at the door upon the drive, its spirited gray horses pawing the ground with impatience to be gone.  It would carry the bride and groom—­and a less pretentious vehicle their servants—­in two hours to the seaport where they were to take the steamer for New Orleans; for their honeymoon was to be spent at Viamede, Elsie still adhering to the plan of a year ago.

Her adieus were gayly given to one and another, beginning with those least dear; very very affectionately to Mrs. Travilla, Aunt Wealthy, Rose, and the little Horace (the sleeping Rosebud had already been softly kissed in her crib).