“I wish, as I stated yesterday, that Miss Bowen's property should be settled entirely upon herself. This is the only course which to my thinking can reconcile a man to the humiliation of receiving a large fortune with his wife.”

“An odd doctrine, truly! Where did you learn it?” laughed Major Harper, who was pacing the Bedford Square drawing-room with quick, uneasy steps; while his brother stood very quiet, only looking from time to time at the closed door. It was the Saturday before the marriage; and Agatha's trustee had come to execute his last guardianship of her and her property. There was lying on a corner-table, pored over by a lawyer-like individual—that formidable instrument, a marriage-settlement.

“Where did I learn it?” returned Mr. Harper, smiling. “Why, where I learned most of my opinions, and everything that is good in me—with Uncle Brian. Poor Uncle Brian!” and the smile faded into grave anxiety.

“Are you really going on that mad expedition?” said the elder brother, with the air of a man who, being perturbed in his own mind, is ready to take a harsh view of everything.

“I do not think it mad—and anything short of madness I ought to undertake, and shall—for him.”

“Ay,” muttered the other, “there it is, Brian always made everybody love him.”

“But,” continued Nathanael, “as I said last night to Miss Bowen, I shall do nothing foolishly. We must hold ourselves prepared for the worst; still, if better tidings should come—though that is scarcely possible now—then perhaps”——

“You would not go!” cried Major Harper, eagerly. “Which would of course delay your marriage. How very much better that would be.”

“Why so?” said the bridegroom, with a piercing look.

Frederick appeared confused, but threw it off with a laugh.

“Oh, women like a little longer courtship. They are never caught all in a minute, unless they are quite indifferent as to who catches them. And even then—'marry in haste'—you know the proverb—nay, don't be angry,” he added, as his brother turned abruptly away. “I was only jesting; and a happy fellow like you can afford to be laughed at by a miserable old bachelor like me.”

The momentary annoyance passed. Nathanael was, indeed, too happy to be seriously vexed at anything.

“Still, for some reasons,” continued Major Harper, “I wish my fair ward were not becoming my sister in such a terrible hurry. So much to be done in one week, and by a man like me who hates the very name of business; it is next to impossible but that some things should he slurred and hurried over. For instance, there was no time, Grimes said, to draw up a long deed of settlement, showing precisely where her money was invested.”

“I told you I wanted nothing of the kind. I scarcely understand your English law. But can it not be stated in plain legal form—a dozen lines would surety; do it—that every farthing Agatha has is settled upon herself exclusively from the day she becomes my wife.”

“That is done. I—I—in fact, Mr. Grimes had already advised such a course as being the shortest.”

“Then what is the use of saying any more about it?”

“But, brother,” observed Major Harper, in whose manner was perceptible a certain vague uneasiness, “if—though I assure you Grimes has transacted all these matters, and he is a sharp man of business, while I am none—still, if it would be any satisfaction to you to know particulars concerning where Miss Bowen's money is invested”—

“In the funds; and to remain there by her father's will, to I think you said.”

“Precisely. It was invested there,” returned the brother, with an accent so light on the past tense that Nathanael, preoccupied with other things than money matters, did not observe it.

“Well, then, so let it stay. Don't let us talk any more about this matter. I trust entirely to you. To whom should I trust, if not to my own brother?”

At these hearty words Major Harper's face, quick in every mobile expression of feeling, betrayed much discomposure. He walked the room in a mood of agitation, compared to which the bridegroom's own restlessness was nothing. Then he went to the farther end of the apartment, and hurriedly read over the marriage-settlement.

“Faugh, Grimes! what balderdash is this?” he whispered angrily. “Balderdash?—nay, downright lies!”

“Drawn up exactly as you desired, and as we arranged, Major Harper,” answered Mr. Grimes, formally. “Settling upon the lady and her heirs for ever all her property now in the 'Three per Cent. Consols.'”

“Just heavens! and there's not a penny of it there!”

“But there will be by the time the marriage is celebrated, or soon after—since you are determined to sell out those shares.”

“I wish I could—I wish to Heaven I could!” cried the poor Major, in a despair that required all the warnings of his legal adviser to smother it down, so as to keep their conference private. “I've been driven nearly mad going from broker to broker in the City to-day. I might as well attempt to sell out shares in the Elysian Fields as in that confounded Wheal Caroline.”

“Fluctuations, my dear sir; mere fluctuations! 'Tis the same in all Cornish mines. Yet, as I said, both concerning your own little property and Miss Bowen's afterwards, I would wish no better investment. I have the greatest confidence in the Wheal Caroline shares.”

“Confidence!” echoed the Major, ruefully. “But where is my brother's confidence in me, when I tell him?—'Pon my life, I can't tell him!”

“There is not the slightest need; I have accurate information from the mine, which next week will raise the shares to ten per cent, premium, and then, since you are so determined to sell out that most promising investment”—

“I will, as sure as I live. I vow I'll never be trustee to any young lady again, as long as my name is Frederick Harper. However, if this must stand”—and he read from the deed—“'all property now invested in the Three per Cents.'—Oh, oh!” Major Harper shook his head, with a deep-drawn sigh of miserable irresolution.

Yet there lay the parchment, sickening him with its prevaricating if not lying face; and his invisible good angel kept pulling him on one side—nay, at last pulled him halfway across the room to where, absorbed in a reverie—pardonable under the circumstances—his brother sat.

“Nathanael, pray get out of that brown study, and have five minutes' talk with me. If you only knew the annoyance I have endured all this week concerning Agatha's fortune! How thankful I shall be to transfer it from my hands into yours.”

“Oh, yes!” said the lover, rather absently.

“And I hope it will give you less trouble and more reward than it has given me,” continued the elder brother, still anxiously beating about the bush, ere he came to a direct confession. “I declare, I have been as anxious for the young lady's benefit as if I had intended marrying her myself.”

The bridegroom's quick, fiery glance showed Major Harper that he had gone a little too far, even in privileged jesting.

But happily Nathanael had heard the door open. He hastily went forward and met his bride. With her were Mr. and Mrs. Thornycroft, Dr. and Mrs. Ianson, and another lady. The latter quickly passed out of the immediate circle, and sat down in a retired corner of the room.

Agatha looked pale and worn out, which was no wonder, considering that for several days she had endured, morning, noon, and night, all the wearisome preparations which the kind-hearted Emma deemed indispensable to “a really nice wedding.” But her betrothed noticed her paleness with troubled eyes.

“You are not ill, my darling?”

“No,” said Agatha, abruptly, blushing lest any one should hear the tender word, which none had ever used to her before, and blushing still deeper when, meeting Major Harper's anxious looks fixed on them both, she fancied he had heard. A foolish sensitiveness made her turn away from her lover, and talk to the first person who came in her way.

Meanwhile Mr. Thornycroft and Dr. Ianson, with a knowledge that time was precious, had gone at once to the business of the meeting, and were deep in perusal of the marriage-settlement of which they were to be witnesses.

“Why, Miss Bowen, you are a richer girl than I knew,” said Emma's worthy husband, coming forward, with his round pleasant face. “I congratulate you; at this particular crisis, when hundreds are being ruined by last year's mania for railway speculation, it is most fortunate to have safe funded property.”

Major Harper's conscience groaned within, and it was all over. He resigned himself to stern necessity and force of circumstances—hoping everything would turn out for the best.

Then they all gathered round the table, and Mr. Grimes droned out the necessary formalities. The bride-elect listened, half in a dream—the bridegroom rather more attentively.

“Are you quite sure,” said he, pausing, with the pen in his hand, and casting his eyes keenly over the document—“are you quite sure this deed answers the purpose I intended? This is the total amount of property which Mr. Bowen left?”

And he looked from his brother to the lawyer with an anxiety which long afterwards recurred bitterly to Agatha's mind.

Mr. Grimes bowed, and assured him that all was correct. So the young bridegroom signed with a steady hand, and afterwards watched the rather tremulous signature of his bride. Then an inexpressible content diffused itself over his face. Putting her arm in his, he led her away proudly, as though she were already his own.

Confused by her novel position, Agatha looked instinctively for some womanly encouragement, but Emma Thorny-croft was busily engaged in admiring observation of some wedding presents, and Mrs. Ianson was worse than nobody.

“Miss Valery!—what has become of Miss Valery? said the bride, her eyes wandering restlessly around. Other eyes followed hers—Major Harper's. Incredulously these rested on the silent lady in the background, whose whole mien, figure, and attire, in the plain dark dress, and close morning cap, marked her a woman undeniably and fearlessly middle-aged.

“Is it possible!” he exclaimed. “Can that be Anne Valery?”

The lady arose, and met him with extended hand. “It is Anne Valery, and she is very glad to see you, Major Harper.”

They shook hands; his confused manner contrasting strongly with her perfect serenity. After a moment Miss Bowen, who could not help watching, heard him say:

“I, too, am glad we have met at last. I hope it is as friends!”

“I was never otherwise to you,” she answered, gently; and joined the circle.

This rather singular greeting, noticed by none but herself, awakened Agatha's old wrath against Major Harper, lest, as her romantic imagination half suggested, the secret of Anne Valery's always remaining Anne Valery, was, that his old companion had been first on the illustrious Frederick's long list of broken hearts. If so, never was there a broken heart that made so little outward show, or wore such a cheerful exterior, as Miss Valery's.

But Agatha's own heart was too full of the busy trembling fancies natural to her position to speculate overmuch on the hearts of other people. Very soon Major Harper quitted the house, and the Thornycrofts also. She was left alone with her lover and with Anne—Anne, who ever since her arrival had seemed to keep a steady watch over Nathanael's bride. They had rarely met, and for brief intervals; yet Agatha felt that she was perpetually under this guardianship, gentle, though strong—holding her fluctuating spirit firm, and filling her with all cheerful hopes and tender thoughts of her future husband. She seemed to grow a better woman every time she saw Anne Valery. It was inexpressibly sweet to turn for a few moments each day from the lace and the ribbons, the dresses and the bridecake, and hear Anne talk of what true marriage really was—when two people entirely and worthily loved one another.

Only Agatha had not the courage to confess, what she began to hope was a foolish doubt, that the “love” which Miss Valery seemed to take for granted she felt towards Nathanael, was a something which as yet she herself did not quite understand.

That Saturday afternoon, nevertheless, she was calmer and more at ease. Signing the settlement had removed all doubts from her mind, and made her realise clearly that she would soon be Mr. Harper's wife. And he was so tender over her, so happy. Her marriage with him appeared to make every one happy. That very day he had brought her a heap of letters from Dorsetshire; her first welcome from his kindred—her own that would be.

They seemed to know all about her—from Anne Valery doubtless—and to be delighted at Nathanael's choice. There was a kind but formal missive from the old father, implying his dignified satisfaction that at last one of his sons would marry to keep up the family name. From the daughters there were letters varying in style and matter, but all cordial except, perhaps, Eulalie's, who had years to wait before she married, and was rather cross accordingly. One note, in neat and delicate writing, made Agatha's heart beat; for it was signed, “Your affectionate sister, Elizabeth.”

She, who had longed for a sister all her life! Heaven was very good to her, to give her all ties through one! It seemed, indeed, right and holy that she should be married to Nathanael.

One only unutterable terror she had, which by a fortunate chance was never alluded to by any one, and she was too much occupied to have it often forced on her mind. This was, the thought of having to cross the seas to Canada.

“Oh!” she sighed, as she sat, with the letters on her lap, listening to what her lover said of his sisters and his family—“oh! that we could do as your father seems to wish, and go and live in Dorsetshire, near Kingcombe Holm.”

“I wish it too, if it would please you, dear; but it seems impossible. How could I live in England without a profession?—even supposing Uncle Brian did consent to return and settle at home. Sometimes, but very rarely, he has hinted at such a possibility.—He has indeed, Anne,” continued the young man, noticing how keenly Miss Valery's eyes were fixed on him.

“I am glad to hear it.”

“But he always said he would never return till he was grown either very rich or very old. Alas; the latter chance may come, but the former never! Poor Uncle Brian! If he comes at all, it is sure not to be for many years.”

“Not for many years!” repeated Miss Valery, who was crossing over to Agatha's side with a piece of rich lace she had been unfolding. As she walked, her hand was unconsciously pressed upon her chest, a habit she had after any quick movement. And, leaning over Agatha, she breathed painfully and hard.

“My dear?” The young girl looked up. “Your sisters that are to be desired me to give you from them a wedding-present. It was to be your veil. But I had a whim that I would like to give you your veil myself. Here it is. Will you accept it, with my love?”

So saying, she laid over the bride's head a piece of old point lace, magnificent in texture. Agatha had never seen anything like it.

“Oh, Miss Valery, to think of your giving me this! It is fit for a queen!” And she looked at Mr. Harper, hesitating to accept so costly a gift.

“Nay, take it,” said he smiling. “Never scruple at its costliness; it cannot be richer than Anne's heart.” And he grasped his old friend's hand warmly.

Miss Valery continued, with a slight colour rising in her cheek. “This was given me twenty years ago for a wedding-veil. It has been wasted upon me, you see, but I wish some one to wear it, and would like it to be worn by a Mrs. Locke Harper.”

Agatha blushed crimson. Nathanael looked delighted. Neither noticed Anne Valery; who, her passing colour having sunk into a still deeper paleness, quietly returned to her seat, and soon after quitted the house.