"No such thing! It's nickel. What is nickel, I
wonder?"
The handwriting afforded no clew, so there the discussion ended: but it
was a nice little mystery, and very convenient; made conversation. Rosa
had many an animated discussion about it with her female friends.
The wedding-day came at last. The sun shone--ACTUALLY, as Rosa observed.
The carriages drove up. The bridesmaids, principally old schoolfellows
and impassioned correspondents of Rosa, were pretty, and dressed alike
and delightfully; but the bride was peerless; her Southern beauty
literally shone in that white satin dress and veil, and her head was
regal with the Crown of orange-blossoms. Another crown she had--true
virgin modesty. A low murmur burst from the men the moment they saw her;
the old women forgave her beauty on the spot, and the young women almost
pardoned it; she was so sweet and womanly, and so sisterly to her own
sex.
When they started for the church she began to tremble, she scarce knew
why; and when the solemn words were said, and the ring was put on
her finger, she cried a little, and looked half imploringly at her
bridesmaids once, as if seared at leaving them for an untried and
mysterious life with no woman near.
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