But Harold objected. "No, no, May; I want to see you dressed as Rose and Sophie were—in white, with veil and orange blossoms. Why shouldn't your beauty be set off to the best advantage as well as theirs, even though only the eyes of those who love you will look upon it?"
And so it was; for Harold's wishes were sacred now.
They were married in the morning; and after a sumptuous breakfast the bridal attire was exchanged for the traveling suit, and the new-made husband and wife set out upon their wedding trip. It was very sad for poor May to leave, not only childhood's home, parents, and brothers and sisters whose lease of life seemed as likely to be long as her own, but to part from the dying one to whom she was most tenderly attached.
But Harry promised to bring her back; and she was to be immediately summoned, in case of any marked unfavorable change in the invalid.
Then, too, Harold was so serenely happy in the prospect before him, and talked so constantly of it as only going home a little while before the rest, and of how at length all would be reunited in that better land, to spend together an eternity of bliss, that it had robbed death of half its gloom and terror.
It was Harold's earnest desire that all his dear ones should be as gay and happy as though he were in health; he would not willingly cast a shadow over the pathway of any of them, for a day; especially the newly married, whose honeymoon, he said, ought to be a very bright spot for them to look back upon in all after years.
So Lottie felt it right to let her heart swell with gladness in the new love that crowned her life; and the time passed cheerfully and pleasantly to the guests at Elmgrove.
Mrs. Ross and her mother, and Miss Stanhope, remained for a fortnight after the wedding. All were made to feel themselves quite at home in both houses; the two families were much like one, and usually spent their evenings together, in delightful social intercourse; Harold in their midst on his couch, or reclining in an easy chair, an interested listener to the talk and occasionally joining in it.
One evening when they were thus gathered about him, Mrs. Carrington, looking compassionately upon the pale, patient face, remarked, "You suffer a great deal, Captain Allison?"
"Yes, a good deal," he answered cheerfully, "but not more than I can easily endure, remembering that it is 'whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth.'"