“I 'm glad of it,” said she, with an air of proud exultation. “Who's there?” cried Davis, impatiently, as a sharp knock came to the door. It was the Reverend Paul come to borrow a white neckcloth, none of his own being sufficiently imposing for such an occasion. “I am scarcely presentable, Miss Davis. I am sure I address Miss Davis,” said he, pushing into the room, and bowing ceremoniously at each step. “There can be but only one so eminently beautiful!” “There, take what you want, and be off!” cried Davis, rudely. “Your father usurps all the privileges of long friendship, and emboldens me to claim some, too, my dear young lady. Let me kiss the fairest hand in Christendom.” And with a reverential homage all his own, Paul bent down and touched her hand with his lips. “This is the Reverend Paul Classon, Lizzy,” said Davis,--“a great dignitary of the Church, and an old schoolfellow of mine.” “I am always happy to know a friend of my father's,” said she, smiling gracefully. “You have only just arrived?” “This moment!” said he, with a glance towards Grog. “There, away with you, and finish your dressing,” broke in Davis, angrily; “I see it is nigh seven o'clock.” “Past seven, rather; and the company assembled below stairs, and Mr. Beecher--for I presume it must be he--pacing the little terrace in all the impatience of a bride-groom. Miss Davis, your servant.” And with a bow of deep reverence Paul retired. “There were so many things running in my mind to say to you, Lizzy,” said Davis, “when that Classon came in.” It was very hard for him not to add an epithet; but he _did_ escape that peril. “I own, papa, he did not impress me very favorably.” “He's a first-rate man, a great scholar, a regular don amongst the shovel-hats,” said Grog, hastily; “that man was within an ace of being a bishop. But it was not of _him_ my head was full, girl. I wanted to talk to you about Beecher and that haughty sister-in-law of his. _She_ 'll 'try-it on' with you, Lizzy; I 'm sure she will!” “Dearest papa, how often have you told me that in preparing for the accidents of life we but often exaggerate their importance. I'll not anticipate evil.” “Here's Beecher!--here he is!” cried Davis, as he clasped her once more to his heart; and then, opening the door, led her down the stairs. There was a full assemblage of all the folk of the little inn, and the room was crowded. The landlord and his wife, and four buxom daughters and two sons, were there; and a dapper waiter, with very tight-fitting trousers, and a housemaid, and three farm-servants, all with big bouquets in their hands and huge bows of white ribbon on their breasts; and Mademoiselle Annette, Lizzy's maid, in a lilac, silk and a white crape bonnet; and Peters, Beecher's man, in a most accurate blue frock, except his master, looking far more like a gentleman than any one there.