And Mr. Casement, when the time came was as good as his word.
Lady d'Eyncourt, Margaret and Harriet, were walking on the lawn beneath the broad light of the harvest moon. It was the evening before the marriage.
"Do feel nervous, little one, please," said Harriet; "I can't bear heroines. Do be frightened! I assure you, I tremble for you. He is a fire eater—your Mr. Haveloc."
"You will make her nervous, Harriet," said Elizabeth, gently.
"I tell you what, Margaret," said Harriet, "I hope you and Mr. Haveloc, will not turn too religious, that is all. I expect, when I come to Tynebrook, to find you grown into two old hermits, with beards down to your waists."
"Pray exempt me from the beard, Harriet," said Margaret smiling.
"I say, the next time you go to Tynebrook church, you will think of your first visit," said Harriet.
"Do not remind me of it, Harriet."
"What a number of little lies you did tell," exclaimed Harriet; "but I suppose it is natural, is it not, Bessy?"
"Do you remember whether I told many during my noviciate?"
"Oh! a great many, Harriet."
"I will call you out, child! Why, what in the world can Mr. Haveloc want with us? To go and sign the settlements? I am quite agreeable. I assure you, Margaret, I signed my own death-warrant in a fine flowing hand, that will prove to future ages how valiant I was."
Margaret signed hers too steadily, Harriet thought. She crept near her at the last signature, and gave her arm such a push, as sent her pen across the parchment. Just to keep up appearances, Harriet told Mr. Haveloc, and to make people believe she felt some little regret at the very unguarded step she was about to take.
Elizabeth, being still in weeds, did not go to church with Margaret. Every one was delighted with the delicate, and faultless beauty of the bride when she appeared, looking radiant in her white lace and orange blossoms. Even Harriet was contented with the numerous cortége that she had contrived to assemble in honour of the occasion.
Lady d'Eyncourt was the first to welcome Margaret and wish her joy, when Mr. Haveloc led her back into the drawing-room, calm—silent—with just a few tears upon her blushing cheek.
"But I dare not ask, that your lot may be as happy as mine," she whispered, "lest it should be as brief."
"Ah, I could die now!" said Margaret, as she rested her head on Elizabeth's shoulder—feeling as Othello did; and as all those who feel deeply, must sometimes feel, in this unstable world.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Lady d'Eyncourt, stood together at the window watching the carriage which bore away Mr. and Mrs. Haveloc.
"I have not a fear for her," said Elizabeth, turning to her companion, "hers was a love match, and I have no faith in any other."
"Nor I," returned Mrs. Fitzpatrick with a smile.
"For Love is Lord of Truth and Loyalty,
Lifting himself out of the lowly dust,
In golden plumes up to the purest sky."