Family Pride

Softly the night shadows fell around the farmhouse, and in the rooms below a rather mixed group was assembled--all the _élite_ of the town, with many of Aunt Betsy's neighbors, and the doctor's patients, who had come to see their loved physician married, rejoicing in his happiness, and glad that the mistress of Linwood was not to be a stranger, but the young girl who had grown up in their midst, and who, by suffering and sorrow, had been molded into a noble woman, worthy of Dr. Grant. She was ready now for her second bridal, and she looked like some pure waxen figure in her dress of white, with no vestige of color in her face, and her great blue eyes shining with a brilliancy which made them almost black. Occasionally, as her thoughts leaped backward over a period of almost six years, a tear trembled on her long eyelashes, but Morris, as often as he saw it, kissed it away, asking if she were sorry.

"Oh, no, not sorry that I am to be your wife," she answered; "but it is not possible that I should forget entirely the roughness of the road which has led me to you."

"They are waiting for you," was said several times ere the parties waited for were quite ready to go; but everything was done at last, and slowly down the stairs passed Mark Ray and Helen, Lieutenant Bob and Bell, with Dr. Grant and Katy, whose face, as she stood again before the clergyman and spoke her marriage vows, shone with a strange, peaceful light, which made it seem to those who gazed upon her like the face of some pure angel.

There was no thought then of that deathbed in Georgetown--no thought of Greenwood, or the little grave in Silverton, where the crocuses and hyacinths were blossoming--no thought of anything save the man at her side, whose voice was so full and earnest, as it made the responses, and who gently pressed the little hand as he fitted the wedding ring. It was over at last, and Katy was Morris' wife, blushing now as they called her Mrs. Grant, and putting up her rosebud lips to be kissed by all who claimed that privilege. Helen, too, came in for her share of attention, and the opinion of the guests as to the beauty of the respective brides, as they were termed, was pretty equally divided; both were beautiful, and both bore traces of the suffering and suspense which had purified and made them better.

In heavy, rustling silk, which actually trailed an inch, and cap of real lace, Aunt Betsy hobbled among the crowd, her face aglow with the satisfaction she felt at seeing her nieces so much admired and appreciated, and her heart so full of good will and toleration that after the supper was over, and she fancied a few of the younger ones were beginning to feel tired, she suggested to Bell that she might start a dance if she had a mind to, either in the kitchen or parlor, it did not matter where, and "Ephraim would not care an atom," a remark which brought from Mrs. Deacon Bannister a most withering look of reproach, and slightly endangered Aunt Betsy's standing in the church. Perhaps Bell Cameron suspected as much, for she replied that they were having a splendid time as it was, and as Dr. Grant did not dance, they might as well dispense with it altogether. And so it happened that there was no dancing at Katy's wedding, and Uncle Ephraim escaped the reproof which his brother deacon would have felt called upon to give him had he permitted so grievous a sin, while Mrs. Deacon Bannister, who, at the first trip of the toe, would have felt it her duty to depart, lest her eyes should look upon the evil thing, was thus permitted to remain until "it was out," and the guests retired _en masse_ to their respective homes.