from the journey. Accordingly, one day in April, Falkland arrived at Mustaphabad and took up his quarters for the night at the house of his old friend Mackenzie Maxwell, the civil surgeon. The following morning he received charge of the commissioner's office, and the day was passed by the two friends at the court-house, in the matter-of-fact occupation of discussing the various business matters of the duty to be taken over, and signing the needful transfer papers. Towards sunset the wedding took place at the cantonment church, after which the newly-married couple and the guests invited to witness the ceremony, comprising all the residents of the station who had not gone off for the summer to the hills, repaired to Brigadier Polwheedle's house, the residency being too far off for the purpose, and there partook of ices and champagne, according to approved custom. At dusk, Mr. Cunningham set off on his long journey, the nawab's camel-carriage being again put in requisition for the first part of it; while Falkland and his bride drove home to the residency.
Thus was our sweet Olivia mated, and all her friends and acquaintances pronounced it a happy marriage on both sides. And indeed with a husband gallant, clever, and unselfish, gentle and kind in his ways, and whose devotion and solicitude were evinced in every word and action, how could the young wife help being happy? And must not she love dearly in return a husband so good and noble, a husband of whom any woman might be proud? And yet — had she asked herself, is this really love? it would have been difficult to frame a true reply. She was always happy in his presence; no doubts or regrets came up to disturb the first placid days of wedded life; but the well-known footstep sounding in the hall raised no responsive throb in Olivia's gentle bosom, nor did the hours of enforced absence pass with weary longings for return. Olivia had been accustomed to spend many hours of the day alone; and now with Justine for company — Justine who had returned to the residency after a short visit to Mrs. Polwheedle — she could still employ the long mornings happily till her husband returned from his duties at the court-house. At times, indeed, would come up unbidden questionings whether another fate might not have been hers, and a sorrowful regret that her cousin should be cast off and forsaken, undeserving of affection though he might be; but any gentle doubts of this sort were dismissed whenever they arose, as unworthy tenants of her thoughts.
To the residents of Mustaphabad feeling a pleasurable interest in or indifference about Miss Cunningham's marriage, it needs hardly be said that there was one exception. And, crushed down by the sudden destruction of the hopes which the foolish young fellow had allowed himself to build on utterly unsubstantial foundation, poor Yorke had not even the bitter consolation of feeling that he had been the victim of heartless coquetry. He could not carry his self-deception so far as to delude himself into the belief that Miss Cunningham had knowingly jilted him. He now saw plainly enough that her supposed encouragement of his love had existed only in his own imagination. Calling up over and over again each moment of the brief interviews which made up his acquaintance with Olivia, his sense of truthfulness and natural humility now brought him to see clearly enough that her feelings towards him had been free throughout from the emotions they caused in him, that her kind manner was dictated merely by a kind heart. There had been no eagerness, no shyness in Miss Cunningham's greetings. All the heart-flutterings had been on one side only. So much the young man had learnt of the language of love. And amid the despair he felt at the downfall of his hopes, he could not but admit to himself that the choice she had made was, after all, a more natural and proper one. What right had he, an obscure penniless subaltern, to aspire to gain that peerless creature for a wife? And for all his being a few years older, he felt as if he must always have looked up to her, and she down to him. Now Falkland was one whom every woman as well as every man must look up to; and her proper place would be as mistress of a great household. Fool that he was, to dream that she could ever come to share his lowly home! And yet, Falkland could never love her as he had loved her; she would never know as his wife the passionate devotion of which she deserved to be the object.
But from one disaster, at least, he had been spared. He had never, with all his folly, been fool enough to make his infatuation public. None of their acquaintance except Spragge could have a suspicion of it; and Jerry, though a hare-brained fellow, was a stanch friend who would not peach. Even Olivia herself did not know his secret. But no! surely,
