Say:  Is it not enough to cause feminine apprehension, for a woman to be married in another woman’s ring?

You are amazons, ladies, at Saragossa, and a thousand citadels—­wherever there is strife, and Time is to be taken by the throat.  Then shall few men match your sublime fury.  But what if you see a vulture, visible only to yourselves, hovering over the house you are gaily led by the torch to inhabit?  Will you not crouch and be cowards?

As for the hero, in the hour of victory he pays no heed to omens.  He does his best to win his darling to confidence by caresses.  Is she not his?  Is he not hers?  And why, when the battle is won, does she weep?  Does she regret what she has done?

Oh, never! never! her soft blue eyes assure him, steadfast love seen swimming on clear depths of faith in them, through the shower.

He is silenced by her exceeding beauty, and sits perplexed waiting for the shower to pass.

Alone with Mrs. Berry, in her bedroom, Lucy gave tongue to her distress, and a second character in the comedy changed her face.

“O Mrs. Berry!  Mrs. Berry! what has happened! what has happened!”

“My darlin’ child!” The bridal Berry gazed at the finger of doleful joy.  “I’d forgot all about it!  And that’s what’ve made me feel so queer ever since, then!  I’ve been seemin’ as if I wasn’t myself somehow, without my ring.  Dear! dear! what a wilful young gentleman!  We ain’t a match for men in that state—­Lord help us!”

Mrs. Berry sat on the edge of a chair:  Lucy on the edge of the bed.

“What do you think of it, Mrs. Berry?  Is it not terrible?”

“I can’t say I should ’a liked it myself, my dear,” Mrs. Berry candidly responded.

“Oh! why, why, why did it happen!” the young bride bent to a flood of fresh tears, murmuring that she felt already old—­forsaken.

“Haven’t you got a comfort in your religion for all accidents?” Mrs. Berry inquired.

“None for this.  I know it’s wrong to cry when I am so happy.  I hope he will forgive me.”

Mrs. Berry vowed her bride was the sweetest, softest, beautifulest thing in life.

“I’ll cry no more,” said Lucy.  “Leave me, Mrs. Berry, and come back when I ring.”

She drew forth a little silver cross, and fell upon her knees to the bed.  Mrs. Berry left the room tiptoe.

When she was called to return, Lucy was calm and tearless, and smiled kindly to her.

“It’s over now,” she said.

Mrs. Berry sedately looked for her ring to follow.

“He does not wish me to go in to the breakfast you have prepared, Mrs. Berry.  I begged to be excused.  I cannot eat.”

Mrs. Berry very much deplored it, as she had laid out a superior nuptial breakfast, but with her mind on her ring she nodded assentingly.

“We shall not have much packing to do, Mrs. Berry.”

“No, my dear.  It’s pretty well all done.”