Mr. Lovell, who was at that moment calling on my uncle, took her home in his carriage. When I heard my aunt arrange with them at what hour they were to be at church the next day, and ask them to come home to luncheon afterwards, I stood by in a sort of stupified bewilderment. I then went into the back drawing-room, and wrote a note to Mrs. Hatton, to ask her to be present at my marriage the next day. As I was finishing it my aunt came in, and tried on the wreath of orange flowers, and the veil which she had chosen for me. I walked up and down the room--I stood at the window--I wished that Edward would come; I was getting frightened at my own nervousness. I went to the pianoforte, and sang Mrs. Hemans's "Two Voices," that cry of alternate mournful depression, and highly-wrought enthusiasm, in which the words and the music seem to be but the expression of one thought. My voice was unnaturally loud and thrilling; there was a sound in it which I could not bear. A moment afterwards I was desired to go to my uncle in the library; Edward was with him, and Lawson, the man of business. I was directed to sign some papers. I did so, and Lawson left the room. My uncle then said to me-- "On you, Ellen, and on Edward, I have settled all my property. Since the day that I lost my only child this has been my fixed purpose. I was anxious to live long enough to see it accomplished, and I am thankful that wish has been granted. I have one request to make to you both. Call your eldest girl _Julia_--make her wear this chain--it was round my child's neck when she died--and if I live, let me see her often. Now go, and God bless you both!" I don't know what I said or did; these words fell like burning lead on my soul, and I almost sank on the ground. Edward took me out of the room; and the only hour of relief which that day afforded was when, with his arm around me, and my head on his shoulder, he suffered me to weep in silence. ...Then he raised my head gently but forcibly; then, with his sweet smile, and his low deep voice, he whispered to me that his happiness was unutterable--his love boundless--his soul mine for ever. His words--words of passion from him whom I worshipped--at whose side I felt myself unworthy to live--at whose feet I would have been content to die;--those words, those looks, those tones, thrilled through my whole frame, and wrought on my brain, turning remorse for the past, and fear for the future, into a delirious dream of joy, even as laudanum can change pain itself into ecstacy.