Major Harper sank into one of the vestry-chairs, muttering something, inaudible to all ears save those which seemed fatally gifted with preternatural acuteness--the young bridegroom's. Nathanael fancied--nay, was certain--that he heard his brother say, “_Oh, my poor Agatha._” He looked suddenly at his bride, whose weeping had changed into silent but violent trembling. He dropped her hand, then with a determined air again took possession of it, saying sharply to his brother: “What is the reason of all this? Is anything amiss?” “No, nothing--have I said anything?” “Then why startle us thus? It is not right, Frederick.” “Hush--perhaps he is ill,” whispered Anne Valery. Major Harper looked up, and among the many inquiring eyes, met hers. It seemed to fix him, sting him, rouse him to self-command. “I am quite well,” he cried, with a hoarse attempt at laughter. “A gay bachelor always feels doubly cheery at a wedding. So it is all over, Nathanael? I beg your pardon for being too late; but I have been running about town on important business, till I am half-dead. Still, let me offer my congratulations to the bride.” He came forward jauntily, seized Agatha's hand and was about to kiss it, but for a slight shrinking on her part. The colour rushed to her face--his darkened with an expression of uncontrollable pain. At least so it appeared to one who never for a moment relaxed his watch--the younger brother. “Really,” said Mr. Thornycroft, who, during the few minutes thus occupied, had bustled in and out of the vestry--“really, are we never intending to come home? Somebody must make a diversion here. Major Harper, will you take my wife? Miss Valery, allow me.” This fortunate interference effected a change. All moved away a little from the bridegroom, who was still standing by his wife's chair. “Agatha--will you come?” She mechanically rose; Mr. Harper drew her arm in his, and led her down the aisle. There were a few stray lookers-on at the church-door, who peered at them curiously. An inexplicable shadow hung over them. Never were a newly-married couple more silent or more grave. Only, as they stood on the entrance-steps that were wet with a past shower of thunder-rain, and Agatha in her thin white shoes was walking right on, her husband drew her back. “It will not hurt me. Do let me go,” she said. “No, you must not; you are mine now,” was the answer, with a look that would have made the tone of control sound in any loving bride's ear the sweetest ever heard. He left Agatha in the church, and hurried a little in advance. His brother and Mrs. Thornycroft were standing at the porch outside, Emma laughing and whispering. And while waiting for the carriage, it so chanced that Nathanael caught what they were saying. “Why, Major Harper, you look as dull as if you had been in love with Agatha yourself! And after what you confessed to me, I did positively believe she was in love with you.”