this little matter. As for the Potter's Field, a place in my
servants' burying-ground is quite as respectable, and more
convenient in this weather."

The jurors were grouped about the fire in the baronial hall,
buttoning up overcoats and splatterdashes, and drawing on their
riding-gloves, all having come on horseback. In the midst of the
general bepraisement of their host's gentlemanly and liberal
conduct, Mrs. Aylett swam down the staircase, resplendent in silver-
gray satin, pearl necklace and bracelets, orange flowers and
camelias in her hair--semi-bridal attire, that became her as nothing
else ever had done.

"My dear madam," said the foreman of the inquest--a courtly
disciple of the old school of manner, and phraseology--as the august
body of freeholders parted to either side to leave her a passage-way
to the fireplace--"your husband is a happy man, and his wife should
be a happy woman in having won the affection of such a model of
chivalry"--stating succinctly the late proof the "model" had offered
to an admiring world of his chivalric principles.

The delicate hand stole to its resting-place upon her lord's arm, as
the lady answered, her ingenuous eyes suffused with the emotion that
gave but the more sweetness to her smile.

"I AM a happy woman, Mr. Nelson! I think there is not a prouder or
more blessed wife in all the land than I am this evening."

Laugh, jest, and dance ruled the fleeting hours in the halls of the
old country-house that night, and the presiding genius of the revel