keenest pleasure she showed her uncle's kind letter and present—it was gratifying to them both, that her marriage should receive the sanction of the head of her family.
The morning of the wedding came at last; and when the first gleam of sunshine broke through the curtains, it roused Louisa from a sleepless pillow. Bitterly did she feel the absence of her family from the approaching ceremony. She remembered with what deep affection they had clung together the morning of Isabella's marriage, and how each sought, at first in vain, to cheer the other after her departure. She remembered, too, how often the young bride's eyes had sought theirs, as if to gather courage from their sympathy! She dreaded the sad yet sweet tears they had shed at parting—none such would be shed to-day! It seemed as if she could think of nothing else: never had their affection been disturbed by any of the selfish or trivial disputes which so often disturb the serenity of a household; they had always been ready to yield the one to the other; and it would indeed have taxed their memory to recall one unkind word.
When Mrs. Gooch came in, who was all alive with the gay flutter she held indispensable to a wedding, she found Louisa weeping bitterly, to her utmost astonishment. "I never," exclaimed she, "could understand why people cry when they are married—I never cried at mine—what was there to cry for? If Tom had suddenly altered his mind, I might have cried,
