How beautiful Vale Leston church looked, decked with white roses, lilies, and myrtle!  The bride, tall and stately in her flowing veil and glistening satin train, had her own sweet individuality, not too closely recalling the former little bride.  She came on her uncle Clement’s arm, as most nearly representing a father to her, and the marriage blessing was given by the majestic-looking Bishop, with the two chief local clergy, Mr. William Harewood and Mr. Charles Audley, taking part of the service.  It was a beautiful and impressive scene, and there was a great peace on all.  It was good to see the intense bliss on Ivinghoe’s face as he led his bride down the aisle, and along the cloister; and as they came into the drawing-room, after she had received an earnest kiss, and “my pretty one” from his father, it was to Dr. May that he first led her.  Dr. May, his figure still erect, his face bright and cheery, his brow entirely bare, and his soft white locks flowing over his collar.  He held out his hands, “Ah, young things!  You are come for the old man’s blessing!  Truly you have it, my lady fair.  You are fair indeed, as fair within as without.  You have a great deal in the power of those little hands, and you-—oh yes, both of you, believe, that a true, faithful, loving, elevating wife is the blessing of all one’s days, whether it be only for a few years, or, as I trust and pray it may be with you, for a long—-long, good, and prosperous life together.”

The two young things bent their heads, and he blessed them with his blessing of eighty years.  Lord Rotherwood’s eyes were full of tears, as he said in a choked voice—-

“Thank you, sir,” while Franceska murmured to Mysie—-

“I do like that he should have been the first to call me ‘my lady.’”

The luncheon included only the two families, and the actual assistants at the wedding, and it was really very merry.  Lady Rotherwood did inspire a little awe, but then Alda, sitting near, knew exactly how to talk to her, and Alda, who, like Geraldine, had dressed herself in soft greys and whites, with her delicate cheeks flushed with pleasure and triumph, looked as beautiful as ever, and far outshone her twin, whose complexion and figure both had become those of the portly housewife.

Meta, otherwise Mrs. Norman May, had eyes as bright and lively as ever, though face and form had both grown smaller, and she was more like a fairy godmother than the Titania she had been in times of old.  She had got into the middle of all the varieties of children, dragged thither by Gertrude’s Pearl and Audrey, and was making them happy.

Ethel and Geraldine never could come to the end of what they had to say to one another, except that Ethel could but be delighted to make her friend know the brother of her early youth; and show her the grave, earnest-looking man who had suffered so much, and whose hair was as white as the doctor’s, his face showing the sunburn of the tropics; and the crow’s-feet round his eyes, the sailor’s habit of searching gaze.  He did not speak much, but watched the merry young groups as if they were a sort of comedy in his eyes.