It was not often that so beautiful a bride was seen as the young duchess. She bore her part in the scene very bravely. The papers toll how Lord Arleigh was "best man" on the occasion but no one guessed even ever so faintly of the tragedy that came that morning to a crisis. The happy pair went off to Vere Court, the duke's favorite residence, and there for a short time the public lost sight of them. If the duke had been asked to continue the history of his wedding-day, he would have told a strange story--how, when they were in the railway-carriage together, he had turned to his beautiful young wife with some loving words on his lips, and she had cried out that she wanted air, to let no one come near her--that she had stretched out her hands wildly, as though beating off something terrible. He believed that she was overcome by excitement or the heat of the day; he soothed her as he would have soothed a child; and when they readied Vere Court he insisted that they should rest. She did so. Her dark hair fell round her white neck and shoulders, her beautiful face was flushed, the scarlet lips trembled as though she were a grieving child; and the young duke stood watching her, thinking how fair she was and what a treasure he had won. Then he heard her murmur some words in her sleep--what were they? He could not quite distinguish them; it was something about a Puritan maiden _Priscilla_ and _John_--he could not catch the name--something that did not concern him, and in which he had no part. Suddenly she held out her arms, and, in a voice he never forgot, cried, "Oh, my love, my love!" That of course meant himself. Down on his knees by her side went the young duke--he covered her hands with kisses. "My darling," he said, "you are better now, I have been alarmed about you, Philippa; I feared that you were ill. My darling, give me a word and a smile." She had quite recovered herself then; she remembered that she was Duchess of Hazlewood--wife of the generous nobleman who was at her side. She was mistress of herself in a moment. "Have I alarmed you?" she said. "I did feel ill; but I am better now--quite well, in fact." She said to herself that she had her new life to begin, and the sooner she began it the better; so she made herself very charming to the young duke, and he was in ecstasies over the prize he had won. Thenceforward[3] they lived happily enough. If the young duke found his wife less loving, less tender of heart, than he had believed her to be, he had no complaint. "She is so beautiful and gifted," he would say to himself. "I cannot expect everything. I know that she loves me, although she does not say much about it. I know that I can trust her in all things, even though she makes no protestations." They fell into the general routine of life. One loved--the other allowed herself to be loved. The duke adored his wife, and she accepted his adoration.