God bless the sheep!  Their tinkling bells
      Make music over all the fells;
      By force and gill and tarn it swells,
      And this is what their music tells: 
      God bless the sheep upon the fells.’”

The melody was wild and simple, a little plaintive also; and Charlotte sang it with a low, sweet monotony that recalled, one knew not how or why, the cool fragrance of the hillside, and the scent of wild flowers by running water.

Then she went slowly home, Ducie walking to the pine-wood with her.  There was a vague unrest and fear at her heart, she knew not why; for who can tell whence spring their thoughts, or what mover first starts them from their secret lodging-place?  A sadness she could not fight down took possession of her; and it annoyed her the more, because she found every one pleasantly excited over a box of presents that had just arrived from India for Sophia.  She knew that her depression would be interpreted by some as envy and jealousy, and she resented the false position it put her in; and yet she found it impossible to affect the enthusiasm which was expected from her over the Cashmere shawl and scarfs, the Indian fans and jewelry, the carved ivory trinkets, the boxes full of Eastern scents,—­sandalwood and calamus, nard and attar of roses, and pungent gums that made the old “Seat” feel like a little bit of Asia.

In a few days Julius followed; he came to see the presents, and to read, with personal illustrations and comments, the letters that had accompanied them.  Sophia’s ideas of her own importance grew constantly more pronounced; indeed, there was a certain amount of “claim” in them, which no one liked very well to submit to.  And yet it was difficult to resist demands enforced by such remarks as, “It is the last time I shall ask for such a thing;” “One expects their own people to take a little interest in their marriage;” “I am sure Julius and his family have done all they can;” “They seem to understand what a girl must feel and like at such an eventful time of her life,” and so on, and so on, in variations suited to the circumstances or the occasion.

Every one was worn out before July, and every one felt it to be a relief when the wedding-day came.  It was ushered in with the chiming of bells, and the singing of bride-songs by the village children.  The village itself was turned upside down, and the house inside out.  As for the gloomy old church, it looked like a festal place, with flowers and gay clothing and smiling faces.  It was the express wish of Sophia that none of the company should wear white.  “That distinction,” she said, “ought to be reserved for the bride;” and among the maids in pink and blue and primrose, she stood a very lily of womanhood.  Her diaphanous, floating robe of Dacca muslin; her Indian veil of silver tissue, filmy as light; her gleaming pearls and feathery fan, made her

     “A sight to dream of, not to tell.”