But Mrs. Livingstone turned angrily away, telling her to mind her own affairs. Then ’Lena sought her cousin, and winding her arms around her neck, besought of her to resist—to burst the chain which bound her, and be free. But with a shake other head, Anna bade her go away. “Leave me, ’Lena Rivers,” she said, “leave me to work out my destiny. It is decreed that I shall be his wife, and I may not struggle against it. Each night I read it in the stars, and the wind, as it sighs through the maple trees, whispers it to my ear.” “Oh, if my aunt could see her now,” thought ’Lena but as if her mother’s presence had a paralyzing power, Anna, when with her, was quiet, gentle, and silent, and if Mrs. Livingstone sometimes missed her merry laugh and playful ways, she thought the air of dignity which seemed to have taken their place quite an improvement, and far more in keeping with the bride-elect of Captain Atherton. About this time Mr. Livingstone returned, appearing greatly surprised at the phase which affairs had assumed in his absence, but when ’Lena whispered to him her fears, he smilingly answered, “I reckon you’re mistaken. Her mother would have found it out—where is she?” In her chamber at the old place by the open window they found her, and though she did not as usual spring eagerly forward to meet her father, her greeting was wholly natural; but when Mr. Livingstone, taking her upon his knee, said gently, “They tell me you are to be married soon,” the wildness came back to her eye, and ’Lena wondered he could not see it. But he did not, and smoothing her disordered tresses, he said, “Tell me, my daughter, does this marriage please you? Do you enter into it willingly?” For a moment there was a wavering, and ’Lena held her breath to catch the answer, which came at last, while the eyes shone brighter than ever—“Willing? yes, or I should not do it; no one compels me, else I would resist.” “Woman’s nature,” said Mr. Livingstone, laughingly, while ’Lena turned away to hide her tears. Day after day preparations went on, for Mrs. Livingstone would have the ceremony a grand and imposing one. In the neighborhood, the fast approaching event was discussed, some pronouncing it a most fortunate thing for Anna, who could not, of course, expect to make so eligible a match as her more brilliant sister, while others—the sensible portion—wondered, pitied, and blamed, attributing the whole to the ambitious mother, whose agency in her son’s marriage was now generally known. At Maple Grove closets, chairs, tables, and sofas were loaded down with finery, and like an automaton, Anna stood up while they fitted to her the rich white satin, scarcely whiter than her own face, and Mrs. Livingstone, when she saw her daughter’s indifference, would pinch her bloodless cheeks, wondering how she could care so little for her good fortune.