“Oh! he is!” thought Thurston, benevolently.  “Very well! in that case his jealousy shall not starve for want of ailment;” and he devoted himself to the capricious bride with more impressement than before—­consoling himself for his discreet neglect of Marian by reflecting on the blessed morrow that should place her at his side for the whole day.

And so the evening passed; and at an early hour the party separated to get a good long night’s rest, preparatory to their early start in the morning.

But Thurston, for one, was too happy to sleep for some time; too happy in the novel blessedness of resting under the same roof with his own beautiful and dearest Marian.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE BRIDE OF AN HOUR.

It was a clear, cold, sharp, invigorating winter morning.  The snow was crusted over with hoar frost, and the bare forest trees were hung with icicles.  The cunning fox, the ’possum and the ’coon, crept shivering from their dens; but the shy, gray rabbit, and the tiny, brown wood-mouse, still nestled in their holes.  And none of nature’s small children ventured from their nests, save the hardy and courageous little snow-birds that came to seek their food even at the very threshold of their natural enemy—­man.

The approaching sun had scarcely as yet reddened the eastern horizon, or flushed the snow, when at Locust Hill our travelers assembled in the dining-room, to partake of their last meal previous to setting forth.

Commodore Waugh, and Mrs. L’Oiseau, who were fated to remain at home and keep house, were also there to see the travelers off.

The fine, vitalizing air of the winter morning, the cheerful bustle preparatory to their departure, the novelty of the breakfast eaten by candle-light, all combined to raise and exhilarate the spirits of the party.

After the merry, hasty meal was over, Mrs. Waugh, in her voluminous cloth cloak, fur tippet, muff, and wadded hood; Jacquelina, enveloped in several fine, soft shawls, and wearing a warm, chinchilla bonnet; and Dr. Grimshaw, in his dreadnaught overcoat and cloak, and long-eared fur cap, all entered the large family carriage, where, with the additional provision of foot-stoves and hot bricks, they had every prospect of a comfortable mode of conveyance.

Old Oliver, in his many-caped drab overcoat, and fox-skin cap and gloves, sat upon the coachman’s box with the proud air of a king upon his throne.  And why not?  It was Oliver’s very first visit to the city, and the suit of clothes he wore was brand new!

Thurston’s new gig was furnished with two fine buffalo robes—­one laid down on the seats and the floor as a carpet, and the other laid over as a coverlet.  His forethought had also provided a foot-stove for Marian.  And never was a happier man than he when he handed his smiling companion into the gig, settled her comfortably in her seat, placed the foot-stove under her feet, sprang in and seated himself beside her, tucked the buffalo robe carefully in, and took the reins, and waited the signal to move on.