Year: 1873

the bridegroom's face, and the bride trembed
visibly, and grew paler than before.


The break, however, was but momentary,
and the service proceeded. In few moments


it was completed, the ring was placed on
LucYs trembling finger, and the irrevocable
words pronounced which made her Alfred
Stanley's wife.


The rain was now falling in large heavy
drops, the lightning flashed repeatedly, and
the whole party were compelled to remain
under the shelter of the porch until the storm
had somewhat abated. Lucy was forced to
receive the good wishes and congratulations
of those present, which she did with assumed
composure. Her mother, standing near her,
took upon herself the office of answering for
her, in order to hide as much as possible the
agitation she well knew she was still suffering
from. At length they were able to return
home Lucy's bridal dress was exchanged for
one more suitable for travel, adieux were made,
and wishes for pleasant journey uttered, and
they set off in handsome travelling carriage,
which was to carry them the first few miles
of their route.


1t was on the evening of the next day that
the cars, which they took at station about
thirty miles above Charleston, stopped at
Unionville, where stanley's private equipage
was waiting for them. A four hours drive
was still before them, consequently it would be
quite late before they reached home.


1t was dark night, and the road was
rough and uneven one. Already exhausted
by excitement and fatigue, Lucy felt scarcely
equal to bearing the jolting of the carriage,
and leaned back with closed eyes, in utter
weariness, in her seat.


care you much fatigued, my own" asked
Stanley, in the soft and melodious voice that.
could be so we'll attuned to the utterance of
tender words. "We will soon be at home
now-om home, my Lucy, which you are to
gladden. with the brightness Of your sweet
presence. How my heart thrills at the
thought Of the happiness that is before us!
Does not yours, too, respond to the blissful
anticipation"


"I scarcely know" answered Lucy, in
low tone. "It seems to me that there is a
gloom, a mysterious foreboding of trouble,
hanging over me which I cannot dispel. 1
have tried to shake it off, but in vain. Every
circumstance connected with our marriage
seems to confirm this impression Of sadness"


EVERY circumstance echoed Stanley,
pressing her hand. To what do you allude,
my love? To your esteemed fathers death?
I can think of nothing else which has trans
pired to cause such gloomy feelings on your
part"


"That is indeed a heavy grief" said Lucy,
in a faltcring voice" and it will be long ere l
can cease to mourn so great a loss. But
was thinking of other things minor circum-
stances which seemed to point toward some
unhappy end. 1 may be very foolish, but l
cannot entirely divest myself of the impress
sion they have caused"


With many fond words, and much tender
persuasion, Stanley urged her to explain to
him what she meant. For some time she
could not bring herself to betray her weak
ness but at length his entreaties prevailed
over her reluctance, and she told him Of her
dream, and the vision she had afterward seen,
or imagined she had seen, in her mirror.
Stanley listened in perfect silence; but she felt
his hand, which clasped hers, tremble as if
with agitation as she proceeded, and when she
concluded her narration, he cleared Iris throat
once or twice before he answered her.


"My dear Lucy, you are sillier little
woman than thought you" he said, in
tone of affected gaiety, at last. 'To let
dream cause you such anxiety Your vision,
as you call it, in the glass, was simply the ef:
feet of that dream, which took too firm a hold
on your fancy, thereby causing its re-appear-
ance in your waking hours"


"And the storm yesterday" murmurcd
Lucy, "did not that, too, seem like a warning
Of evil ?"


"The storm, too! Did that affect you so
much? Why Lucy, Lucy! I shall have to
reproach you as coward, or very supersti-
tious little mortal, if you go on at this rate.
Positively, I shall have to scold you into a
more rational state Of mind"


He laughed as he spoke, but it was an un-
easy laugh, and it was we'll for him that the
darkness concealed his face from the observa-
ton of his bride, or she would have noticed
how pale he had grown, and how restlessly
he gnawed his lip, as if half infected by her
fears, or oppressed by some secret thought he
was not willing to reveal.


Her words had, in truth, brought strange
recollections to his mind. Far away in his
memory lay hidden a secret of the past, that
he would have shrunk from revealing to any
one, above all to this innocent girl who had
been given into his keeping Was it to be
disclosed to her by some means over which he
had no control-was the dread communication
to be made by an agency from the gravel


In spite Of his habitual GOODNESS and imper.
durability of disposition, his mind was shaken
at the thought, and drops of cold perspiration
started out on his forehead.


"Pshaw!" he said to himself "what folly
this is! I must be the veriest child, to allow it
to disturb me for an instant"


His reflections were interrupted by vio-
lent jar of the carriage, accompanied by the
plunging and snorting of the horses, the i'm
precautions Of the driver, and the shrieks of
Lucy's maid, who sat on the box. A bridge
they were crossing had given way, and they
were partially immersed in stream of water,
while one of the horses feet being entangled