She had sat in her room all that afternoon, in a sort of stupor, her fingers convulsively clasping and unclasping each other, and her eyes bent on the floor listlessly. The going out and coming in of her attendants attracted no attention. But she had not shed a tear. The fountains of her eyes seemed scorched up. When the time came to attire her for the ceremony, they had to rouse her; and the vacant gaze of inquiry she turned on the servant, made the slave, for a moment, think her insane. But when her aunt came in to superintend her toilet, she seemed to revive, and with an effort rose from her chair, and welcomed her with a smile—but one like a sunbeam on a wintry day, cold, and shuddering to look upon. From this moment, however, she was more like herself, though at times the muscles of her mouth would twitch convulsively. At other times she would turn away her head, and an expression of heart-breaking wo would then shoot across her countenance; but, on meeting her aunt’s eye once more, she would essay again to smile. A few moments before the ceremony was to begin, they left her alone for a moment. She was standing before the mirror, and her eyes fell on the reflection of her form. “The sacrifice will soon be complete,” she said bitterly. “God forgive me—yet surely I am doing right. Oh! that I could weep, but there is a load here,” and she pressed both hands on her breast, “that keeps back the tears. It is like burning fire.” Who would have believed that this ghastly face was the once radiant one of Kate Mowbray? Her father stood near the door as she entered. He was struck with the dry, stony expression of her face, and started forward to her side. He spoke in a whisper, but with startling earnestness. “I adjure you, my daughter,” he said, “tell me—are you willing to go on with this matter? Say but a word, and it shall be broken off.” Kate lifted her eyes to his with a sudden movement, and the glance they gave was full of unutterable love. It was such, if we may say so without presumption, as a martyred spirit might have turned to heaven from the stake. It thrilled every nerve in that father’s frame. That same sad, sweet smile, too, was on her face, as she placed her hand in his, and said, “Let it go on, dear father. I am only faint and nervous. I shall soon be better.” Ay! better in the grave. His doubts were only half resolved, but he could say no more, and together they advanced to the temporary altar, where the bridegroom and priest stood awaiting them. Kate felt a choking in the throat, as her eyes first fell on Major Lindsay, and it seemed to her, for an instant, as if her knees were failing her. But she remembered that her father’s eyes were bent anxiously on her, and from that moment there was no longer any faltering on her part.