On the morning that she went way, the duchess sent for her to her room.  She told her all that she intended doing as regarded the elaborate and magnificent trousseau preparing for her.  Madaline was overwhelmed.

“You are too good to me,” she said—­“you spoil me.  How am I to thank you?”

“Your wedding-dress—­plain, simple, but rich, to suit the occasion—­will be sent to St. Mildred’s,” said the duchess—­“also a handsome traveling costume; but all the rest of the packages can be sent to Beechgrove.  You will need them only there.”

Madaline kissed the hand extended to her.

“I shall never know how to thank you,” she said.

A peculiar smile came over the darkly-beautiful face.

“I think you will,” returned the duchess “I can imagine what blessings you will some day invoke on my name.”

Then she withdrew her hand suddenly from the touch of the pure sweet lips.

“Good-by, Madaline,” she said; and it was long before the young girl saw the fair face of the duchess again.

Just as she was quitting the room Philippa placed a packet in her hand.

“You will carefully observe the directions given in this?” she said; and Madaline promised to do so.

The time at St. Mildred’s soon passed.  It was a quiet, picturesque village, standing at the foot of a green hill facing the bay.  There was little to be seen, except the shining sea and the blue sky.  An old church, called St. Mildred’s, stood on the hill-top.  Few strangers ever visited the little watering-place.  The residents were people who preferred quiet and beautiful scenery to everything else.  There was a hotel, called the Queen’s, where the few strangers that came mostly resided; and just facing the sea stood a newly-built terrace of houses called Sea View, where other visitors also sojourned.

It was just the place for lovers’ dreams—­a shining sea, golden sands, white cliffs with little nooks and bays, pretty and shaded walks on the hill-top.

Madaline’s great happiness was delightful to see.  The fair face grew radiant in its loveliness; the blue eyes shone brightly.  There was the delight, too, every day of inspecting the parcels that arrived one after the other; but the greatest pleasure of all was afforded by the wedding-dress.  It was plain, simple, yet, in its way, a work of art—­a rich white silk with little lace or trimming, yet looking so like a wedding-dress that no one could mistake it.  There were snowy gloves and shoes—­in fact everything was perfect, selected by no common taste, the gift of no illiberal hand.  Was it foolish of her to kiss the white folds while the tears filled her eyes, and to think of herself that she was the happiest creature under the sun?  Was it foolish of her to touch the pretty bridal robes with soft, caressing fingers, as though they were some living thing that she loved—­to place them where the sunbeams fell on them, to admire them in every different fold and arrangement?