Culver Allen.

"As soon as you have prepared your drawings for the new church, we shall be glad to see them," said Hargrave, to young Clifford, as he took up the reins, and drove off from the rectory with Mr. Ware, and his nephew. There was such a magic in that simple pronoun, 'we,' that he could not forget it long after it had passed his lips, leaving the young architect to indulge a long day dream on his kindness, which was to end in the happiness of one other patient young being, long plighted to his uncertain fortunes. Hargrave had, indeed, been determined to be lavish of the blessings which he had, himself, so bounteously received, and already reaped the fruits of well-doing in the pleasure it gave him.

Before evening they reached Bath, where the good rector was received with unaffected delight by Mabel, and with much timid apprehension by his nephew's intended bride, who was, however, soon reassured by the kindness of his manner.

In the midst of all this busy happiness, Caroline and Maria continued to make themselves often remembered, and poor Mabel had to endure very much at their hands, and to experience so many complicated annoyances, that she looked to her marriage as to a haven of rest. She had received from Mr. Ware the box of plate, of which he had the charge, and presented it to her aunt, and, so far, had discharged all duty to her: but, though she had been cruelly injured, she could not help sincerely pitying her, since so much painful dissension had sprung up between her and her daughters; at the same time, that she must deeply feel the disappointment of all her schemes.

But time hurried on till the first of June, which had been fixed for the double marriages, and on that morning the bells of the venerable Abbey startled the passers by with such a merry peal, as left little doubt of their import. It really would be difficult to calculate the exact quantity of Macassar oil and scents, which were expended in the two hours which Miss Lovelace spent at her toilet, on the occasion; but, certainly, her ringlets were in the very best order, when she arrived in Sydney Place, and the pink silk dress which had been presented to her, with its numberless tiny flounces, from her very waist to the ground, became her exceedingly. Unfortunately, the party was, she found, very deficient in beaux—but, as scandal was to her, almost as rich a source of amusement as flirtation; she contented herself by keeping her eyes open, and noting down facts in her memory with wonderful precision; subject, indeed, to a coloring of her own, with which she always heightened events in narration much in the same way as that in which the lights and shadows of a highly finished picture often far exceed those of reality.

She proved herself, indeed, a most useful bridesmaid, for Selina, who alone would consent to appear at church, required quite as much attendance as the brides, and, in this way, she learnt a great many secrets that morning, which were afterwards circulated no one could imagine how. In her readiness to do any thing for "dear Miss Lesly," she found out that she had all this time been sleeping in the servants' attic, and in a room not even so well furnished as theirs; and she drew a strong contrast between its humble appearance, and the beautiful pearl bracelet which she fastened round her wrist—bearing testimony, in her own mind, to the rare beauty which, on the morrow, she piqued half her friends, by describing in the most glowing colors—because she alone had been present to see how lovely Mabel had looked in her simple bridal attire, standing in all the modest dignity of her nature, in that small, mean, garret chamber.

Then, as she stepped into the carriage, which was to take her to church, attended by the eccentric Mr. Morley, she noted, from the window, the exact degree of emotion shewn by the two brides as they left the house, Lucy being supported by Mr. Villars—nor were the liveries and horses, belonging to the fashionable equipage which lingered near the church door, forgotten, or the more modest looking one, which stood near it, and had been hired by Clare, for the occasion. Lightly did she trip up the aisle, and take her place, casting a pretty glance round her, which told her, at once, that a venerable man, with hair of silvery whiteness waited for them, by the altar, and that Hargrave and Clair, with their own chosen friends, were standing by, looking very handsome, indeed, but much more serious than she thought necessary; still, it became them very well, and made them look more interesting—she did not take time to consider the touching solemnity of the ceremony she was come to assist in, or to read in Hargrave's earnest manner the steadfast resolutions, which were never broken, of loving, and protecting, and confiding in that fair being, whose light step soon trod the silent aisle, and brought her, in all her trusting affection, to his side—in all the purity of untainted womanhood, to plight her single-hearted faith to him, and, without a doubt, to place the happiness of a life-time in his keeping.

How peacefully upon his wearied heart fell the blessing which was pronounced with trembling lips, and how proudly he led her away when all was over, and whispered—

"Nothing can part us now, love."

And how happy Arthur Clare looked as he led the blushing Lucy to the carriage, trembling as she was, so much, that he was almost obliged to lift her in. But Miss Lovelace's powers of observation were still further called into action, when she reached Sydney Place again; she could scarcely believe her own eyes, indeed, as she afterwards affirmed, when she met Caroline and Maria, for the first time, and found them wearing old silk dresses, rather more faded than those they usually wore of a morning. The pink silk flounces, and the glossy and well arranged ringlets suffered a simultaneous shock—nor could she resist, slightly raising her eyes as they encountered those of Hargrave, who, she instantly noticed, remarked the intended slight.

She saw, too, that Caroline did not even make a shew of congratulation; indeed, so many other instances could be observed of the intentional neglect of the refinements of a marriage festival, even of the simplest kind, that she did not wonder that Hargrave seemed impatient to be gone, and that, when he had secured the hand of his fair bride he should hurry her into the carriage and seat himself beside her, with a look of indescribable relief, as they drove rapidly away—leaving Lucy and her husband to a more prolonged leave taking.

Miss Lovelace, finding that with the departure of the wedding party, her services were deemed concluded, only remained to take a peep at the disappointed family circle before she departed.

She was not slow in divining the state of things amongst them, and Mrs. Villars's altered looks betrayed much of the annoyances she suffered. Indeed, as she afterwards remarked, in giving an account of the wedding, poor Mrs. Villars aged very fast, and as for Caroline and Maria, she had never seen girls expose themselves as they had done; she was sure, indeed, after the way in which they had treated the lovely Mrs. Hargrave, they had lost their chance of settling, if, indeed, they ever had any. As for herself, she said that she had determined to have nothing more to do with them, for that handsome Colonel Hargrave was better than the whole family put together.

To such heartless scandal, we must leave Mrs. Villars and her daughters; but reluctantly, most reluctantly, for we feel that they were intended for something better.