The signatures duly affixed, the wily attorney took hold of both the young girl’s hands. “And now, my fair client,” said he, “you have been generous—very generous—a good daughter, very. Allow me, my good young lady, to wish you every happiness; and pray remember, Messrs. Takeall & Co. will be only too happy to serve you in any way in their power.” “Thank you, sir,” replied the poor victim, struggling to free her hands, which the bland lawyer kept shaking; “but you forget that a bride must dress.” “Quite so—quite so,” said Mr. Takeall, releasing her. And as she left the room, he continued, in his most caressing tones, “That’s a good girl, my dear Mrs. Dale—a _very_ good girl. You have reason to be proud of your daughter, madam—quite so, quite so,” as he rolled up parchments and papers, and stowed them away in his capacious bag. [Illustration] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER IV. +THE BRIDAL+ THOUGH the morning of the wedding had dawned serene and cloudless, the glare of the treacherous sun of May, was accompanied by the cutting east wind, so prevalent in England in that month—fit emblem of the chequered course of married life, the transient joys of which are but too apt to wither beneath the chill breezes of disappointment. My young lady readers, _never marry in May_—that reputed most unlucky month for hymeneal ceremonies. As far as my experience goes, I have invariably seen this popular superstition verified by the result. The wedding of the two cousins was quiet and private, the guests invited being restricted to the immediate relatives and connexions of the young couple. The bride, who was in high beauty, wore over a petticoat of white glacé silk a richly-embroidered robe of India muslin, the gift of her husband, who had brought it from India. Her wreath and bouquet were of real orange flowers and myrtle, and a veil of the most delicate lace enveloped her youthful form, as in a cloud. Her two young sisters, a friend and myself, in white tarletan, trimmed with pink, and looking like rose-buds around a queenly white moss-rose, formed the bridal train; and six little girls from the Sunday school, dressed in white, strewed flowers in their beloved teacher’s path. Evelyn, “the observed of all observers,” did not, I think, appear fully to realize the solemnity of the occasion, though I fancied I perceived a slight shudder pass through her frame, as the irrevocable words were uttered, which fixed her destiny forever. I, for my part, could not shake off a certain gloom, by no means appropriate to so festive an occasion; but I tried hard to be cheerful: and it was not until the last farewells were spoken, and Evelyn smiling, but tearful, was seated in her britschka, by the side of her good-looking young husband, that I sought the solitude of my chamber, and gave full and unrestrained vent to my feelings.