The Rector of St. Marks

"Yes--Arthur and Anna. She wrote me they were to be married on

Christmas Eve. I am so glad it has come round at last."

Then she questioned him of the bridal, of Arthur, and even of Anna's

dress, her manner evincing that the old wound had healed and nothing

but a sear remained to tell where it had been. And so the days went on

beneath the sunny Italian skies, until one glorious night, when

Thornton spoke his mind, alluding to the time when each loved another,

expressing himself as glad that, in his case, the matter had ended as

it did, and then asking Lucy if she could conscientiously be his wife.

"What, you marry a frivolous plaything like me?" Lucy asked, her

woman's pride flashing up once more, but this time playfully, as

Thornton knew by the joyous light in her eye.

She told him what she meant and how she had hated him for it, and then

they laughed together; but Thornton's kiss smothered the laugh on

Lucy's lips, for he guessed what her answer was, and that this, his

second wooing, was more successful than his first.

* * * * * "Married, in Rome, on Thursday, April 10th, Thornton Hastings, Esq.,

of New York City, to Miss Lucy Harcourt, also of New York, and niece

of Colonel James Hetherton."

Anna was out in the rectory garden bending over a bed of hyacinths

when Arthur brought her the paper and pointed to the notice.

"Oh, I am so glad--so glad--so glad!" she exclaimed, emphasizing each

successive "glad" a little more and setting down her foot, as if to

give it force. "I have never dared to be quite as happy with you as I

might," she continued, leaning lovingly against her husband, "for

there was always a thought of Lucy and what a fearful price she paid

for our happiness. But now it is all as it should be; and, Arthur, am

I very vain in thinking that she is better suited to Thornton Hastings

than I ever was, and that I do better as your wife than Lucy would

have done?"

A kiss was Arthur's only answer, but Anna was satisfied, and there

rested upon her face a look of perfect content as all that warm spring

afternoon she worked in her pleasant garden, thinking of the

newly-married pair in Rome, and glancing occasionally at the open

window of the library, where Arthur was busy with his sermon, his pen

moving all the faster for the knowing that Anna was just within his

call--that by turning his head he could see her dear face, and that

by-and-by when his work was done she would come in to him, and with

her loving words and winsome ways, make him forget how tired he was,

and thank heaven again for the great gift bestowed when it gave him

Anna Ruthven.