The day that Mrs. Bird wrote her letter to Henry was the day of Ellen’s marriage with Mr. Edward Milward. It was settled that the ceremony should be a quiet one, because of the recent death of the bride’s father—an arrangement which suited Lady Graves and her daughter very well, seeing that it was necessary to cut down the expenses to the last farthing. Indeed, the possibility of a financial _esclandre_ at Rosham before she was safely married and independent of such misfortunes, haunted Ellen like a nightmare. Edward, it is true, was now perfectly in hand, and showed no further symptoms of backsliding. Still, slips between the cup and the lip are many, and in the event of a public scandal anything might happen. However private the marriage, it proved, in fact, impossible to dispense with a certain amount of the hospitality usual upon these occasions: thus a dinner must be given to the tenants, and a reception held after the wedding to which all the neighbouring families were invited. In these preparations Henry took but a small part, though, as head of the family, it would be his duty to give away the bride and to receive the guests. This marriage, and everything connected with it, was hateful to him, but not the less on that account must he keep up appearances before the world. There had been no reconciliation between himself and his sister, though outwardly they were polite and even affectionate to each other; and he had scarcely exchanged a word in private with his future brother-in-law since the day when Edward read him a lecture upon morals and conduct. Thus it came about that not even Ellen herself was more anxious that the marriage should be over and done with. As it chanced, the bride’s good luck did not desert her, and everything went smoothly. At the last moment, indeed, Edward showed some disposition to jib at the settlements, which, considering that the lady brought him nothing, were disproportionate and unfair; but Ellen’s lawyers, assisted by a judicious letter from herself, were equal to the emergency, and he grumbled and signed. At length, to everybody’s relief, the day came—one of those rare and beautiful November days when the falling leaves dropped silently as snowflakes through the crisp and sunlit air to the frosted grass beneath. Rosham church was full, and when the bride, looking very stately and handsome in her wedding robes, swept up the aisle on her brother’s arm, followed by her two bridesmaids, Emma Levinger and an aristocratic cousin of Mr. Milward’s, a low hum of admiration ran round the crowded pews. Then Edward, exceedingly uncomfortable in the newest of coats and the shiniest of boots, took his place by her side; the service began, Henry, wearing anything but an amiable expression of countenance, gave his sister away, and presently Mr. and Mrs. Milward were receiving the congratulations of their relatives and friends.