decided success; and Honor, if the truth _must_ be told, had been so childish--should we not, however, rather say so womanlike?--as to place clandestinely upon her fair head the wreath of orange-flowers (a real London _cadeau_ from John), she blushing all the while for fear that any living soul might know what a vain silly thing she was. All these signs and symptoms being taken into consideration, I think we are justified in the conclusion that Honor Blake did not actually experience regret that she was about to render kind, prosperous John Beacham the happiest of men. She was a trifle confused and bewildered, perhaps, on that her marriage morning. In some way--how she could not have explained--the conviction had come home to her that being bound in wedlock means something more than new clothes, the congratulations of friends, accession of dignity, and even than spoken vows. It was all very nice and pleasant, that listening to pretty speeches, and contemplating the simple presents with which her friends (they were not numerous, and she had been so little in the world) had rejoiced the heart and gratified the harmless vanity of the whilom nursery governess. But agreeable as all this was, and novel, and soul-stirring, the time came, as we have seen, when she began to look at the more serious side of this, to her, vitally interesting question: took, in short, at the eleventh hour, to overhauling her stock of comforts and necessaries previous to entering the boat in which she and John were henceforth to sail together. And the first question she put to her own heart was, whether her store of love for the voyage, that promised to be a long one, was sufficient not only to last out the time, but was moreover of a quality to withstand the changes of heat and cold, and the many unavoidable trials both of calm and of rough weather. In very plain and simple language Honor, late as it was in the day, inquired of her own heart concerning this matter. Did she in very sober and earnest truth love as he deserved to be beloved the man to whom she was about to plight her troth? Did she hang upon his words, and watch, as for a glimpse of heaven, for his smile? Had she--ah! that was the test of tests--pined for him in absence, and, pure and innocent though she was, longed with shy, sweet blushes for the moment when considerate friends, taking pity on the engaged lovers, would leave them to an undisturbed and blissful _tête-à-tête_? The reply to these home queries was not, I greatly fear, altogether satisfactory, as how indeed could it be, when it was the near prospect of that life-long _tête-à-tête_ which first aroused the spirit of inquiry in Honor’s maiden breast? It was this prospect (could this have been so, my reader, if Love were lord of all within her?) that dimmed the lustre of her eyes, and cast a cloud over the sunshine of her spirits.