“I ought to have told you any time this month past; but I could not _bear_ to do it. And now it is scarcely any use at all; it is a mockery to tell you. But yet, indeed, I could not bear to see you standing there, so gay and unsuspicious. I could not bear to think how you would lose your self-command in _her_ presence. No, I could not endure the thought, Mark!” she said, more and more incoherently. “Rosalie, you are very nervous; you have over-excited yourself about this wedding. Come, let me get you something,” said Mark, drawing her gently through the crowd. As they passed, the buzz of conversation increased very much, and “They are coming;” “The bride is coming;” “There she is;” “Hush,” &c., were the sounds that heralded the entrance of the bridal party, just as Mark Sutherland led Rosalie Vivian into the next room. He took her to a sofa, seated her, handed her a glass of water; but she waved it aside, saying, “I do not need it—I do not need it! It is _you_ who need strength and calmness now. O, Mark! I wish you had left the house when I advised you to leave it!” she exclaimed, her agitation becoming momentarily greater. At last, forcing herself to speak again, she asked: “Mr. Sutherland! Mark! Do you know the name of the lady whom St. Gerald Ashley has married?” “Certainly,” said Mark Sutherland, raising his eyebrows in an interrogative manner. “You do!” exclaimed Rosalie, greatly surprised—excited. “Certainly I do! How could I possibly remain in ignorance of it?” “You do! You know it! And yet you are so calm! Nay, indeed, I am afraid you are mistaken; whom do you suppose it to be?” “One once betrothed to myself—my cousin India!” “You know it! And you are not unhappy about it! Oh, blessed Lord! I am so thankful—so glad!” And Rosalie dropped her face upon her hands, and wept softly and quietly. “Dear Rosalie, has all this disturbance of yours been caused by your sympathy with unworthy me?” “I remembered how you suffered at Cashmere—I feared—I dreaded if you met her suddenly here—the bride of another—that”—— “Well, dear Rose! That”—— “Oh, I fear you think me very impertinent. If you do, you may tell me so; indeed, I shall not take it amiss.” “Tell me your thought, Rosalie. Was it that all those old wounds would be re-opened? That all those sufferings would be renewed?” “Yes!” “Yet you see that they are not.” “No, thank Heaven, Mark! But I cannot understand it.” “Well, then, understand it now. The advent of my promised bride, as the wedded wife of another, does not disturb a pulse of mine, because, in _my_ heart—in any honourable heart—love could not long survive esteem, more than it could survive hope or duty, and because”—— Here his whole manner grew most earnest, most intense, and passing his arm over her shoulder, he drew her face towards his own, and kissing away the tear drops from her eyes, said, “Because I love this single tear of true feeling better than the whole heart of yonder selfish beauty!”