ranged bouquet, and they returned to ask Eda for some. The flowers were scarcely fastened together when the distant sound of a carriage was heard, and the nurse hurried with her charge into the hall. She was agitated herself, and this was rather increased, for she could feel the trembling of each little hand as she took them in her own.
They reached the hall, the moment before Mr. and Mrs. Dalton entered—the two children clung to Eda's gown—and with difficulty could she unloose their clasp, and make them to go forwards—for their father's first question was, "Where are Julia and Ellen?" The sound of his voice, which was very kind, re-assured them, and he himself led them blushing till the tears stood in their eyes.
"What beautiful children," exclaimed the bride as she stooped down to kiss them—obviously more careful of the folds of her veil than anything else: she took the flowers without looking at them, and, taking her husband's arm, pursued her way through the hall, with a look of scrutiny and observation which would better have suited the returning
