“Perfectly,” replied Mrs. Eastman, coloring slightly, and looking at her charming daughter with some wonder. “Well, my dear mother,” returned Muriel, with bewitching playfulness, “I reflected seriously all day yesterday on what you said, and I decided to oblige you. John, come here to me.” Harrington, curious to know what was meant by this preface, approached, and stood before her with a sweetly smiling countenance. Slowly her beautiful white arms stole around him, clasped him lightly, and drew him to her. It seemed in that moment as if, in the noble features upturned to his, all the versatile expressions of which they were capable darted magically together in a bewildering and harmonious play, like the soft floating and intermingling of evanescent, tender rainbow hues on a clear and delicate air. But slowly through their indecisive enchantment broke a dazzling smile, a fairy tremor lifted her fine nostril, the color bloomed deeplier on her cheeks and lips, and her eyes glowed. “John!” said she, in a clear, melodious voice, “this is our marriage morn.” A splendid scarlet flamed on the face of Harrington, and with a start he clasped her to his breast, gazing into her face with eyes like wondering stars. Mrs. Eastman, ineffably astonished, but more ineffably amused, that Muriel had taken her at her word, sank into a chair, with her countenance flushed, and burst into low laughter; while Emily, with the rich color suffusing her features and her eyes and mouth orbed in wonder, pressed her folded hands to her bosom; and Wentworth stared vacantly, with his face as red as fire. “This the morning of our marriage!” exclaimed Harrington. “This!” “This it is, John,” she replied, gaily, “and this is my third agreeable surprise. How do you like it?” Harrington, with a sudden motion, bent his head and kissed her. “Muriel, Muriel!” he laughingly cried, “you are indeed a fairy princess! You touch the moment, and it bursts into the unexpected miracle-flower of joy.” “Now by all the gods at once!” exclaimed the volatile Wentworth, and bounding up with three distinct pigeon-wings into the air, he came down again erect and gallant, and burst into a peal of mellow laughter. “Well I declare!” ejaculated Emily. “Of all the splendid freaks I ever heard of, this is the most splendid. To be married this morning! But who’s to marry you? where’s the minister?” “Oh, he’s coming,” returned Muriel, smiling. “I wrote a note to Mr. Parker this morning, and he is to be here at ten.” “Good!” exclaimed Harrington. “If I am to have any minister to marry me, let it be Mr. Parker. It will be an added consecration.” “I knew you would think so,” replied Muriel. “To be sure,” he answered. “He would consider me a heathen, looking at me theologically, but that’s no matter.” Muriel looked at his smiling countenance, and shook her finger at him. “Oh, you Verulamian heretic!” she exclaimed, gaily.