In few, well-chosen words, which in themselves and in the manner of their delivery presented a striking contrast to the last speaker, he spoke of his deep regard and affection for his old neighbor, who was not only the lord of their manor, but of their hearts, and declared that, speaking for himself, he felt that he, too, had lost, like the squire, a well-beloved daughter. And now for the first time, as the squire just rose and bowed--too moved to speak, his aristocratic, high-bred face working visibly in his attempt to suppress his emotion--for the first time a change came over Olivia’s white face. It seemed to melt as did the Snow Maiden’s, but not into a smile. Her lips quivered and trembled, and as she raised her eyes to the old man’s face, a tear rolled down her cheek. Then Aunt Amelia made a signal to the rest of the ladies, Bartley Bradstone looked at his watch--a silver one, by the way--and said to Olivia: “There’s just--just an hour and five minutes; don’t hurry--I mean I’ll keep the carriage a few minutes for you.” “Very well,” she said, without looking at him, and she followed her aunt out of the room. Annie and Mary seized her at the door and hurried her upstairs. Bessie was waiting for her with her traveling dress laid out on the bed, and everything that required packing ready to start. She glanced at her beloved mistress with an inquiring look, and her eyes grew moist as she saw that the cold, stony look which had been upon her white face still dwelt there. “Are you tired, Miss Ol--ma’am?” she said, coloring at her mistake. Olivia started and stared at her; then, seeming to realize all that had happened to her in the loss of the maiden prefix, she made a gesture of assent, and sank into the old chair in which she had spent so many hours of late, dreaming of the past and dreading the future. Bessie bent over her. “Wouldn’t you like to rest, miss? There is plenty of time; I can dress you in half an hour.” Olivia raised her eyes to the face of the devoted girl. “Oh, if I could!” she breathed. Bessie turned to the others instantly, and said, firmly, but respectfully: “Miss Olivia--my mistress would like to rest a little while, ma’am, if you wouldn’t mind leaving her.” “To rest, my dear Olivia!” exclaimed Aunt Amelia; but Annie and Mary, after a glance at the white, weary face of the bride, took the old lady gently by the arm and drew her out of the room. Then Bessie tenderly, but quickly, took off the wedding finery, and, wrapping Olivia in a soft dressing-gown, put a pillow under her head, and drew the curtains over the window. “Try and sleep, ma’am,” she said, in the loving voice of a sister rather than a servant. “I will wake you----” “Sleep!” said Olivia, in a voice of despair, but she turned her head from the light and closed her eyes.