CHAPTER XXIII. MARRIAGE BELLS. My story draws to its close. The sounds of marriage bells are trembling in the air, and they warn me that May's girlish days are wellnigh ended. One parting peep and I have done. May has her girls gathered around her, and is talking to them a little nervously and disjointedly, for she thinks the next knock may be the herald of a telegram announcing Major Trevor's arrival at Southampton. And May's friends understand all about it, and smile intelligently at each other, as their dear young lady lifts up the blind and looks eagerly out into the street. Then some one asks for a little music, and May finds herself playing the accompaniment of one of the songs they have been learning with her. They got through two verses very well, and then there came a pause. May struck the key-note once or twice. There was a little confused shuffling on the part of the singers, and then Mary Brown laid her hand timidly on May's shoulder. 66 Why, what is the matter?" she asked, turning around abruptly-and then! It is said that the art of flying is a science which, in spite of steam-power, sewing-machines, electric telegraphs, and telephones, has yet to be mastered by the scientists of the nineteenth century. Yet I am bound to make an exception in this case, for I have received the intelligence, on the undoubted testimony of all May's girls, that she actually did fly on this occasion, straight from the music-stool into her lover's arms! There stood Major Trevor in the doorway, and when some judicious person gently closed the door behind the happy pair, the girls all began to look about for their hats and cloaks, feeling with the blank sense of an irreparable loss that their dear Miss May would soon slip out of their world. But who was the man standing silently in the hall and keeping guard over Major Trevor's portmanteau ? Why the soldier servant, of course. Old John was just advancing to offer him the hospitality of the servants' hall when what should happen but one of Miss May's young women catches sight of him, and, without any more ado, flings herself in his arms. Old John was of opinion that the 66 young pusson" ought to be taught to "know her place" and "demean herself according." But Mary, who had begun to sob a little in the midst of her gladness, was content to know that her lover's arm was around her, and that nought but death could ever part them again. May came back for a moment to say good by to her girls, and to whisper a word of loving congratulation into Mary's delighted ear. There was such a sweet pink flush on her cheek, and such a shining light in her eyes, that the girls could hardly take their own from her face. They longed to ask a thousand questions, and Mary would have given worlds to have been |