The private marriage, consented to by Mrs. Cumberland, must not be confounded with a secret marriage. It was to be kept from the world in general: but not from every friend they possessed. Mrs. Cumberland intended to be present as Ellen's guardian; and she very much urged that some friend of Arthur's should also attend. He acquiesced, and fixed on Richard North. Captain Bohun purposed to tell his aunt, Miss Bohun, his friend in every way: but not until the wedding was over: he would trust no one beforehand, he said, excepting Mrs. Cumberland and Dick. Even Dick he did not trust yet. He commanded Dick's presence at Eastsea, telling him that his coming was imperative: there must be no refusal. Finding Dick did not respond, Arthur wrote again; but still only mysteriously. The first letter was the one put aside by Miss Matilda North, the second was that opened by madam. But there were moments when, in spite of his happiness, Arthur Bohun had qualms of conscience for his precipitation: more especially did they press upon him immediately after the marriage was decided upon. For, after all, he really knew nothing, or as good as nothing, of Mr. Adair's position: and the proud Bohun blood bubbled up a little, as a thought crossed him that it was just possible he might find too late that, in point of family, hers was not fitting to have mated with his. The human heart is treacherous: given over to self-deception, and to sophistry. So long as a thing is coveted, when it seems almost unattainable, we see nothing but the advantages of gaining it, the happiness it must bring. But, let this desire be attained, and lo! we veer round, and repent our haste. Instantly every argument that could bear against it, true or false, rises up within us with mocking force, and we say, Oh that I had waited before doing this thing! It is that deceitful heart of ours that is in fault, nothing else; placing upon all things its own false colouring. At first, as they sat together under cover of the rocks, or on the more open benches on the sands, or wandered to the inland walks and the rural lanes, his conversation would turn on Mr. Adair. But Ellen seemed to know as little of her father as he did. "It is strange you don't remember more of him, Ellen!" he suddenly said on one occasion when he was alone with her at Mrs. Cumberland's. "Strange! Do you think so?" returned Ellen, turning from the bay window where she was standing. "I was sent to Europe at eight years old, and children at that age so soon forget. I seem to recollect a gentleman in some sort of white coat, who cried over me and kissed me, and said mamma was gone to live in heaven. His face was a pleasant one, and he had bright hair; something the colour of yours." She thought Arthur had alluded to personal appearance. But he had not meant that.