Mirelle was not to be a bridesmaid. Orange had asked her to be one; she could not well have failed to do so; but Mirelle had declined, and the request had not been urged. Mirelle was glad to escape thus. She would have to be present during the ceremony at Trecarrel, but she would kneel in some shady corner, where her face could not be seen and her tears noticed. Mirelle had passed a trying time. A weight lay on her heart which she was unable to shake off. Even Mrs. Trampleasure had observed the change in her appearance: the sunken eyes, and the transparency of her cheek; but Mirelle had explained this by the climate, which affected her. She had been accustomed to sun. Cloud and rain depressed her, and affected both her health and her spirits. Orange was elated; victory was all but achieved. In a few hours she would be Mrs. Trecarrel of Trecarrel, and be translated to another sphere from that in which circled her father and mother, Miss Bowdler, and the Reverend Flamank. Bah! her bridesmaids expected to be made much of after she was lady of Trecarrel, to be invited to her dances, to meet county people at her receptions, to be still ’Dear Jane,’ and ’Darling Sophy,’ and ’My sweet Rose.’ They were very much mistaken. Once she had risen to her new perch she would peck at every presumptuous fowl that aspired to sit beside her. ’Mrs. Trecarrel of Trecarrel!’ repeated Orange, as she surveyed herself in the glass. She would become her station, with her proud, handsome face and erect bearing. She had the figure and the dignity of a duchess. At least she supposed she had. That she was a fine woman could not be disputed, with a swelling bust, large and luscious eyes, a bright colour, ripe and sensuous lips, and magnificent dark, glossy, and abundant hair. A slight down, not enough to disfigure, showed on her upper lip—the badge of a warm and passionate nature. ’Father will be too much engaged to worry me,’ she thought, ’and mother’s cold will keep her from wetting her feet at Trecarrel. That is a comfort. As for Sampson, he shall not cross my threshold, unless I invite him to shoot rabbits when I am sure no gentleman will be present.’ Mirelle was engaged on the rich but coarse hair of Orange. The delicate white fingers trembled, and were less skilful than usual. ’Really, Mirelle, you are clumsy this evening,’ said Orange; ’you pull my hair and hurt me.’ She looked before her into the glass. ’Are you crying, child?’ ’No, Orange.’ ’I thought I saw something glistening in your eye.’ Mirelle had the strength to repress her tears. She devoted her whole attention to that on which she was engaged. ’You will come occasionally and see me,’ said Orange. ’I shall be so pleased to show you all I am doing; and I am certain the Captain will be delighted. Now, don’t run the hair-pins into my head! I tell you, you hurt me. Really, Mirelle, you are very clumsy. What ails you this evening?’ Mirelle made no reply.