"It's the last but one that stupid extravagant Hector sent me, and if I know _any thing_ about Indian shawls, I know that this one must have cost him something like a hundred guineas; and as I'm not rich enough to buy you a wedding-present, you must take this, Cecil,--though why the fact of a person being married should oblige other people to half ruin themselves in the purchase of bracelets and dressing-cases is more than I can understand. However, that has nothing to do with you and me, Cecil. I'm your aunt, and your nearest living relative, so it would be hard indeed if I couldn't give you something; and if you don't take Hector's shawl I shall be very much offended: and mind you don't go wasting your husband's money on trumpery Dresden china; for when I'm dead and gone you'll have more mandarin jars, and carved ivory chessmen, and inlaid caskets, and envelope-boxes, than you'll know what to do with." Whereupon Mrs. MacClaverhouse kissed her niece, shed one more solitary tear, which she brushed away sharply, and followed the bride down the staircase. And so it happened that Cecil went to her husband wrapped in the shawl which Hector Gordon had chosen in Calcutta three years before. The traditionary chariot and post-horses drove away amidst a volley of cheers; and the very fast young lady, who was rather proud of her foot, launched a fairy bronze boot into the air as the bridal chariot departed, the heel of which fairy boot coming in contact with the eyebrow of one of the listless gentlemen, inflicted a blow that ultimately resulted in that vulgar appearance of mingled blues and greens which is popularly described as a black eye. The last which the Nasedale party saw of the bride and bridegroom was Mr. O'Boyneville's radiant face at the carriage-window, and Mr. O'Boyneville's big white hand waving a parting salutation. And then the Irishman realised the fondest desire of his later years. He went back to the land of his youth, and with his young wife by his side trod once more the country of his birth. He had consulted Cecil's wishes as to that honeymoon tour; but as he had previously revealed his own yearning for a glimpse of his native town, the river and mountains so familiar to his childhood, she set aside all thought of her own inclination. "Let us go to Ireland," she said; "I know you wish to see your own country once more, and it will be all new ground to me." "You really wish to see Ireland?" "Really." "Then we will go there--but only on one condition. There is a place in Devonshire I have heard you talk of--the place where your childhood was spent. We will get across country somehow or other from Holyhead, and we will visit it together, Cecil." She looked up at her lover, and smiled. Of all pleasures that he could have offered to her this was the sweetest. The thought was one of the inspirations of love.