A small, bright ray of light streamed like a
beacon of hope from an upper window, and the lover looked at it
as a clouded mariner might at the shining of the North Star.
"Are you coming in, Ormiston?" he inquired, feeling, for the
first time in his life, almost bashful. "It seems to me it would
only be right, you know."
"I don't mind going in and introducing` you," said Ormiston; "but
after you have been delivered over, you may fight poor own
battles, and take care of yourself. Come on."
The door was unfastened, and Ormiston sprang upstairs with the
air of a man-quite at home, followed more decorously by Sir
Norman. The door of the lady's room stood ajar, as he had left
it, and in answer to his "tapping at the chamber-door," a sweet
feminine voice called "come in."
Ormiston promptly obeyed, and the next instant they were in the
room, and in the presence of the dead bride. Certainly she did
not look dead, but very much alive, just then, as she sat in an
easy-chair, drawn up before the dressing-table, on which stood
the solitary lamp that illumed the chamber. In one hand she held
a small mirror, or, as it was then called, a "sprunking-glass,"
in which she was contemplating her own beauty, with as much
satisfaction as any other pretty girl might justly do.
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