“I know it, Doctor,” she answered, returning the warm grasp I gave her.  Her eyes rested steadily in mine, and saw a shadow in them.

“We are sorry to lose you from S——.  Indeed we cannot afford to lose you.”

“She is wanted,” spoke up her young husband a little proudly, “to grace a wider and more brilliant sphere of life.”

“It is not the brilliant sphere that is always the happiest,” said I.  “Life’s truest pleasures come oftener to quiet home circles even among the lowly, than to gilded palaces where fortune’s favorites reside.”

“It is not to external condition,” the bride remarked, “that we are to look for happiness.”  I thought her voice had in it a pensive tone, as if she were not wholly satisfied with the brilliant promise that lay before her.  “You know, Doctor, we have talked that over more than once in our lives.”

“Yes, Delia; and it is a truth which we ought never to forget—­one that I trust you and your husband will lay up in your hearts.”

I turned to the young man desiring my admonition to reach him also.

“Perhaps I might differ something from this sage conclusion,” he answered a little flippantly.  “As far as I can see, the external condition has a great deal to do with our happiness.  I am very sure, that if I were situated as some people are whom I know, I would be miserable.  So you see, Doctor, I have my doubts touching this theory of yours and Delia’s.”

“Time, I think, will demonstrate its truth,” I said, in a graver tone, and turned from them to give place to those who could talk in a lighter strain than was possible for me on the occasion.

During the evening I saw Wallingford more than once in conversation with the bride; but only when she happened to be a little separated from her husband, towards whom his manner was coldly polite.  The two young men, after the scene in Judge Bigelow’s office, only kept up, for the sake of others, the shadow of acquaintanceship.  Between them there was a strong mutual repulsion which neither sought to overcome.

As I remarked I saw Wallingford more than once in conversation with the bride.  But nothing in his

manner indicated any sentiment beyond that of friendship.  He was polite, cheerful, and at his ease.  But it was different with her.  She was not at her ease in his company, and yet, I could see that his attention was grateful—­even pleasant.

The augury was not good.  As I read the signs, Delia Floyd, when she passed from maidenhood to wifehood, departed from the path that led to happiness in this world.  And I said to myself as I pondered her future—­“May the disappointments and sorrows that are almost sure to come, turn her feet aside into the right way at last!”

CHAPTER XII.

On the day following, the young husband bore his bride away to grace the prouder home that awaited her in New York; and affairs in our town settled themselves down into the old routine.