Pauline’s wedding day dawned clear and bright, meet for the happy event it was to chronicle.  The ceremony was to be performed in church, at an early hour, to enable the newly married pair to leave on the morning boat, and the building was crowded with the numerous friends assembled to witness the rites.  The minister stood within the altar, and, after some slight delay, Mr. Mortimor led Pauline down the aisle.  Dr. Hartwell and Mrs. Lockhart stood near the altar.  Mr. Lockhart’s indisposition prevented his attendance.  Satin, blond, and diamonds were discarded; Pauline was dressed in a gray traveling habit and wore a plain drab traveling bonnet.

It was a holy, a touching bridal.  The morning sunshine, stealing through the lofty, arched windows, fell on her pure brow with dazzling radiance, and lent many a golden wave to the silky, clustering curls.  Pauline was marvelously beautiful; the violet eyes were dewy with emotion, and her ripe, coral lips wreathed with a smile of trembling joyousness.  Perchance a cursory observer might have fancied Mr. Mortimor’s countenance too grave and thoughtful for such an occasion; but though the mouth was at rest, and the dark, earnest eyes sparkled not, there was a light of grateful, chastened gladness shed over the quiet features.  Only a few words were uttered by the clergyman, and Pauline, the wild, wayward, careless, high-spirited girl, stood there a wife.  She grew deadly pale, and looked up with a feeling of awe to him who was now, for all time, the master of her destiny.  The vows yet upon her lips bound her irrevocably to his side, and imposed on her, as a solemn duty, the necessity of bearing all trials for herself; of smoothing away home cares from his path; and, when her own heart was troubled, of putting by the sorrow and bitterness, and ever welcoming his coming with a word of kindness or a smile of joy.  A wife!  She must be brave enough to wrestle with difficulties for herself, instead of wearying him with all the tedious details of domestic trials, and yet turn to him for counsel and sympathy in matters of serious import.  No longer a mere self-willed girl, consulting only her own wishes and tastes, she had given another the right to guide and control her; and now realizing, for the first time, the importance of the step she had taken, she trembled in anticipation of the trouble her wayward, obstinate will would cause her.  But with her wonted, buoyant spirit she turned from all unpleasant reflections, and received the congratulations of her friends with subdued gayety.  Beulah stood at some distance, watching the April face, checkered with smiles and tears; and, looking with prophetic dread into the future, she saw how little genuine happiness could result from a union of natures so entirely uncongenial.  To her the nuptial rites were more awfully solemn than those of death, for how infinitely preferable was a quiet resting-place in the shadow of mourning cedars to the lifelong agony of an unhappy union!