‘By the soft green light in the woody glade¹,

On the banks of moss² where thy childhood played;

By the household tree, thro’ which thine eye

First looked in love to the summer sky.’

— MRS. HEMANS.

Margaret was once more in her morning dress, travelling quietly home with her father, who had come up to assist at the wedding. Her mother had been detained at home by a multitude of half-reasons, none of which anybody fully³ understood, except Mr. Hale, who was perfectly⁴ aware that all his arguments in favour of a grey satin gown, which was midway between oldness and newness, had proved unavailing; and that, as he had not the money to equip his wife afresh, from top to toe, she would not show herself at her only sister’s only child’s wedding. If Mrs. Shaw had guessed at the real reason why Mrs. Hale did not accompany her husband, she would have showered down gowns upon her; but it was nearly twenty years since Mrs. Shaw had been the poor, pretty Miss Beresford, and she had really forgotten all grievances⁵ except that of the unhappiness arising from disparity of age in married life, on which she could descant⁶ by the half-hour. Dearest Maria had married the man of her heart, only eight years older than herself, with the sweetest temper, and that blue-black hair one so seldom sees. Mr. Hale was one of the most delightful⁷ preachers she had ever heard, and a perfect model of a parish priest. Perhaps it was not quite a logical deduction⁸ from all these premises⁹, but it was still Mrs. Shaw’s characteristic conclusion, as she thought over her sister’s lot: ‘Married for love, what can dearest Maria have to wish for in this world?’ Mrs. Hale, if she

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