Meantime Beauty slept, watched by the veteran volunteer of the hero’s band.  Lucy awoke from dreams which seemed reality, to the reality which was a dream.  She awoke calling for some friend, “Margaret!” and heard one say, “My name is Bessy Berry, my love! not Margaret.”  Then she asked piteously where she was, and where was Margaret, her dear friend, and Mrs. Berry whispered, “Sure you’ve got a dearer!”

“Ah!” sighed Lucy, sinking on her pillow, overwhelmed by the strangeness of her state.

Mrs. Berry closed the frill of her nightgown and adjusted the bedclothes quietly.

Her name was breathed.

“Yes, my love?” she said.

“Is he here?”

“He’s gone, my dear.”

“Gone?—­Oh, where?” The young girl started up in disorder.

“Gone, to be back, my love!  Ah! that young gentleman!” Mrs. Berry chanted:  “Not a morsel have he eat; not a drop have he drunk!”

“O Mrs. Berry! why did you not make him?” Lucy wept for the famine-struck hero, who was just then feeding mightily.

Mrs. Berry explained that to make one eat who thought the darling of his heart like to die, was a sheer impossibility for the cleverest of women; and on this deep truth Lucy reflected, with her eyes wide at the candle.  She wanted one to pour her feelings out to.  She slid her hand from under the bedclothes, and took Mrs. Berry’s, and kissed it.  The good creature required no further avowal of her secret, but forthwith leaned her consummate bosom to the pillow, and petitioned heaven to bless them both!—­Then the little bride was alarmed, and wondered how Mrs. Berry could have guessed it.

“Why,” said Mrs. Berry, “your love is out of your eyes, and out of everything ye do.”  And the little bride wondered more.  She thought she had been so very cautious not to betray it.  The common woman in them made cheer together after their own April fashion.  Following which Mrs. Berry probed for the sweet particulars of this beautiful love-match; but the little bride’s lips were locked.  She only said her lover was above her in station.

“And you’re a Catholic, my dear!”

“Yes, Mrs. Berry!”

“And him a Protestant.”

“Yes, Mrs. Berry!”

“Dear, dear!—­And why shouldn’t ye be?” she ejaculated, seeing sadness return to the bridal babe.  “So as you was born, so shall ye be!  But you’ll have to make your arrangements about the children.  The girls to worship with yet, the boys with him.  It’s the same God, my dear!  You mustn’t blush at it, though you do look so pretty.  If my young gentleman could see you now!”

“Please, Mrs. Berry!” Lucy murmured.

“Why, he will, you know, my dear!”

“Oh, please, Mrs. Berry!”

“And you that can’t bear the thoughts of it!  Well, I do wish there was fathers and mothers on both sides and dock-ments signed, and bridesmaids, and a breakfast! but love is love, and ever will be, in spite of them.”