Very different, in truth, had been the scene at the Abbey, from what Gwyneth’s imagination had depicted. The ceremony had, indeed, been gone through, and Isabel herself did not seem more composed and calm than her younger sister; Dora’s pretty face was white as her vail and robe, but scarcely an eyelash quivered, and her voice, though low, was steady. Kisses and congratulations she bore with perfect self-possession, she graced the breakfast-table with her presence, and went through its ceremonies as if they concerned her not; but when the moment came for rising from the feast, she trembled visibly, uttered one piercing scream, and pressing her hand to her head, she sank down insensible. Her husband caught and supported the death-like figure, and would not resign the charge. She was carried by him to her room; no one dared to dispute a right to attend her, which he fiercely asserted; he continued by her side, and when she opened her eyes they fell immediately on his gloomy countenance. The effect was unfortunate; she was attacked at once by terrible hysterical convulsions, repulsing him with evident horror, raving at intervals, wildly and incoherently, of strange and alarming topics, and calling for Hilary Hepburn, in piercing tones. The greatest fear was entertained by the doctor, who was summoned, of the result; he declared that unless she could be calmed, reason, if not life, might be the forfeit, and insisted upon every thing in the slightest degree connected with the late ceremony, being removed from her sight. Gradually her fits subsided, and she sank into a state of torpor, supposed by her attendants to be sleep. This alarming event, of course, delayed the departure of Mrs. Ufford, who could not quit the house, with her sister in that state; and while the rest of the guests took a sorrowful leave, Mr. Barham, his daughter, and son-in-law, endeavored to console each other in their mournful terror. Charles Huyton, yielding to the solicitations of the doctors, agreed to banish himself to “the Ferns” for the present, lest some unlucky circumstance should reveal his presence to his distracted bride, and so bring on a relapse. “When Mrs. Ufford entered her sister’s apartment the next morning, the attendant told her, in a whisper, that the patient slept. Then, in an unadvised moment, she added: “We found this letter yesterday, in the bosom of Mrs. Huyton’s gown; had you not better take care of it, madam?”