could be no more lingering, musing, over it now. The little party, which was so shrunken out of its old dimensions, showed as curious a mixture of feelings as could well be seen, when it met that evening round Diana’s table. Mrs. Norton was subdued by the reality of the event to which she had been looking forward so long. Never till now had she thought of it as affecting herself. The little lady might be selfish for her Sophy, but she was not selfish in her own person; nor did she think of her own comfort as opposed to that of her niece. So that now, when Sophy was gone--she and her boxes and preparations, and her voice and her footstep, all gone--a sudden collapse ensued for poor Mrs. Norton. The sense of her loneliness came upon her all in a moment. She was happy now, she had said fervently; she had placed her child in the care of a good man, who would love and cherish her; and now, whatever happened to herself, Sophy would be safe. But even as she said the words the sense of her loneliness had seized upon the poor little woman, and brought up a sob into her throat. Sophy was provided for. Sophy had a husband and a coronet--the last an unhoped-for glory--but she, had she lost Sophy? She was brave, and choked back the sob, and upbraided herself for her selfishness, but still this constriction of the throat would come back. “I am rather worn out, that is the fact,” she said to Diana, unable to conceal the break in her voice, but laughing brokenly too; “we are so subject to our bodies. I never would allow I was tired, though S-Sophy warned me. If I b-break down, you know what it means, Diana--only t-tiredness and nerves--that is all.” And then she cried, and sat down to table, faltering and trembling, but trying to laugh, with the conviction that the sound, though far from mirthful, would make it apparent that she cried for joy. As for the rector, he was full of the correctest sentiments, and kept his eye upon Diana and upon dear Bill to see what progress they were making. He made them little speeches as to the advantages of matrimony. “It is the one mistake I have made in my life,” said the rector. “It is true that my nephew, who is as good as a son to me, saves me, in some degree, from the loneliness. But I never should advise any one to follow my example. I hope my dear Bill will judge better,” Mr. Snodgrass added, with some solemnity. Diana was the only one who laughed, and this fact amused her still more than the primary cause of her merriment Mrs. Norton put her handkerchief to her eyes, while the curate sat in dumb worship with his eyes turned towards the object of his constant thoughts. “Ah, Mr. Snodgrass, perhaps you will feel as I do. One would make any sacrifice for the happiness of one’s children, and then after, one suffers--not that I mean to complain. To see Sophy happy will be happiness enough for me, if her dear husband is spared to her. But I know what that is,” said poor little Mrs. Norton, subsiding into her handkerchief.