"For the wedding, do you mean? Faith, I always thought a pale, pensive bride more interesting. Not that you are either. A shade more color would spoil you. I think you are even a little flushed." "_You_ are pale, Peggie," said Prue, looking fixedly at her. "What’s the matter?" "Oh! I dreamed all night of troubled water, Prue. You know that’s ill-luck! ’Tis not too late to give up this foolish marriage—" "Foolish marriage! Why, Peggie, ’tis the first wise one I have ever contemplated. And as for a dream, why I dreamed three times running of a black cat, and if anything bodes good luck that does." "But suppose after all the object of the marriage should fail," urged Margaret. "Fail! How can it fail?" cried Prue pettishly. "Besides, you know the motto of the Wynnes: ’_Cowards fayle. I winne_.’ Well, I have failed often enough, yet not from cowardice, God wot! And still I am always hoping to win, I scarce know what." "Your new motto will suit you just as well," said Peggie, "’_Nil timeo_.’" "Ha, ha! the motto of the De Cliffes. Was ever such audacity as this Robin’s? I’ve a mind to ask him, when the deed is done, if he has any directions to give about his hatchment, or if I shall refer the matter to the head of the house." "Oh! Prue, are you utterly heartless? I declare, since I have seen the poor young man I am sorry for him and I wish I had not helped to turn his execution into a jest." "Would you have me weep?" said Prue, almost sternly. "There is always time enough for that when there is nothing else to be done. Ah! I hear Sir Geoffrey’s voice. You are dressed, Peggie, prithee go down to him and bring me word whether he has done his part, and is ready—and willing—to give away the bride." She turned for a last look in the mirror as Peggie hurried away, and the half-scornful smile with which she surveyed her own charming reflection had none of the levity with which she had so easily deceived her cousin. Yet it certainly was not a picture to provoke disdain. Never had the wilful beauty looked to greater advantage. The restless brilliancy of her sparkling eyes, the changeful color that flushed and paled her cheek with each quick-drawn breath, the nameless but irresistible charm that animated every feature, might have excused a more complacent glance. But Prue, though by no means prone to deal severely with herself, was a good deal more ashamed of her scheme than she would have cared to own, even to herself, and perhaps secretly longed for some insurmountable obstacle to stop her in spite of herself.