As to the house, it was to be left absolutely in Martha's care. Inside its walls her authority was to be undisputed, and Elizabeth insisted that her salary should be on the most liberal basis. In fact, Martha's position made her a person of importance--a woman who could afford to do handsomely toward her chapel, and who might still have put by a large sum every year. The wedding was a very pretty one, and Elizabeth, in her robe of white satin and lace, with pearls around her throat and arms, was a most lovely bride. Twelve young girls, daughters of her tenants, dressed in white, and carrying handfuls of lilies-of-the-valley, went with her to the altar; and Richard had for his attendant the handsome little squire. The rector took the place of Elizabeth's father, and a neighboring clergyman performed the ceremony. Most of the surrounding families were present in the church, and with this courtesy Elizabeth was quite satisfied. Immediately after the marriage they left for Liverpool, and when they arrived at Richard's home it was in the time of orange blooms and building birds, as he had desired it should be, six years before. But one welcome which they would gladly have heard was wanting. Bishop Elliott had removed, and no other preacher had taken his place in Richard's home. This was caused, however, by the want of some womanly influence as a conductor. It was Phyllis who had brought the kindred souls together, and made pleasant places for them to walk and talk in. Phyllis had desired very much to meet Elizabeth, on her advent into her American life, but the time had been most uncertain, and so many other duties held the wife and mother and mistress, that it had been thought better to defer the pleasure till it could be more definitely arranged. And then, after all, it was Elizabeth that went to see Phyllis. One day Richard came home in a hurry. "Elizabeth! I am going to Texas--to Austin. Suppose you and Harry go with me. We will give Phyllis a surprise." "But housekeepers don't like surprises, Richard." "Then we will write before leaving, but I doubt if the letter will be in advance of us." It was not. John Millard's home was a couple of miles distant from Austin, and the mail was not gone for with any regularity. Besides, at this time, John was attending to his duties in the Legislature, and Phyllis relied upon his visits to the post-office. It was a pleasant afternoon in June when the stage deposited them in the beautiful city, and after some refreshment Richard got a buggy and determined to drive out to the Millard place. Half a mile distant from it they met a boy about seven years old on a mustang, and Richard asked him if he could direct him to Captain Millard's house. "I reckon so," said the little chap, with a laugh. "I generally stop there, if I'm not on horseback." "O, indeed! What is your name?" "My name is Richard Millard. What's your name, sir?" "My name is Richard Fontaine; and I shouldn't wonder if you are my nephew."