In the drawing-room the guests were rapidly assembling.  A space near one end had been kept clear, but every other corner soon filled; and the party overflowed into Mrs. Bellairs’ own little room adjoining.  Mr. and Mrs. Bayne were among the last arrivals, and punctual to the appointed time came the bridegroom and Harry Scott.

A little change and flutter of the colour on Bella’s cheek, when the well-known knock was heard, showed that she was not entirely without trepidation, but she rose quietly, took a last look at herself in the glass, and was standing ready when her brother-in law came to fetch her.  In the hall, the bridegroom and his two friends met them—­the drawing-room door opened, and, with a soft rustle and gleam of white dresses, the little party passed up through the crowd, and took their places before the clergyman.

There was no want of seriousness in Bella now.  She had become so extremely pale that Mrs. Bellairs watched her anxiously; but except that her responses were made in a perfectly clear and audible tone, without the smallest tremulousness, or appearance of what one of her neighbours called “proper feeling,” she was a most exemplary bride—­even to the point of looking prettier than she had ever been known to do before, and almost eclipsing her bridesmaids.  But, the ceremony over, she did not remain long so unlike herself.  She was quiet, certainly, but as gay, mischievous, and childish as ever.

Breakfast followed the marriage almost immediately.  It was, of course, as brilliant an affair as the resources of Cacouna could produce, and everybody really seemed to enjoy themselves.  The newly-married pair were in all eyes but Lucia’s so well and happily matched, and had so reasonable a prospect of being content with each other and their fortunes, that there did not seem to be a single cloud on the day.  The same boat which had carried Maurice away three days before, took the bride and bridegroom on their tour, and not long after, the guests who had dispersed after breakfast began to reassemble for the evening dance.  Lucia and Magdalen, at the window of what had been Bella’s room, amused themselves by watching the arrivals and talking over the event of the morning.

“Did you ever see such a girl as Bella?” said Magdalen.  “It seems as if she could never be serious for a moment.  She went off laughing as if she were just coming back in half an hour.”

“Why should not she?  She is not going away as some people do, hundreds of miles from all her old friends.”

“No, but then it must be a kind of parting; she will never be with her sister again as she used to be.  I am sure I should have cried.  There is something dreadful in it, I think.  It seems like leaving all one’s youth behind.”

Magdalen sighed rather affectedly.  Lucia laughed.

“People should not marry till they are old, according to that.  I don’t quite believe you think so, however.  But, you know, Bella always declared a bride ought not to cry.  I wonder if she will be any graver now she is Mrs. Morton?”