drawing aside one of the curtains, looked out upon the lovely night.
The grand old trees cast broad shadows on the lawn, and the shrubbery
of the garden gleamed in the soft moonlight. She felt solitary
without any one to speak to, and, being accustomed to have her whims
gratified, she was rather impatient under the prohibition laid upon
her. She rung the bell and requested Venus to bring her shawl. The
obsequious dressing-maid laid it lightly on her shoulders, and holding
out a white nubia of zephyr worsted, she said, "P'r'aps missis would
like to war dis ere." She stood watching while her mistress twined the
gossamer fabric round her head with careless grace. She opened the
door for her to pass out on the veranda, and as she looked after her
she muttered to herself, "She's a pooty missis; but not such a gran'
hansom lady as turrer." A laugh shone through her dark face as she
added, "'T would be curus ef she should fine turrer missis out dar."
As she passed through the parlor she glanced at the large mirror,
which dimly reflected her dusky charms, and said with a smile: "Massa
knows what's hansome. He's good judge ob we far sex."

The remark was inaudible to the bride, who walked up and down the
veranda, ever and anon glancing at the garden walks, to see if Gerald
were in sight. She had a little plan of hiding among the vines when
she saw him coming, and peeping out suddenly as he approached. She
thought to herself she should look so pretty in the moonlight, that he
would forget to chide her. And certainly she was a pleasant vision.
Her fairy figure, enveloped in soft white folds of muslin, her
delicate complexion shaded by curls so fair that they seemed a portion
of the fleecy nubia, were so perfectly in unison with the mild
radiance of the evening, that she seemed like an embodied portion of
the moonlight. Gerald absented himself so long that her little plan
of surprising him had time to cool. She paused more frequently in