In revolving Lord Snyder's expressions, however, he could not help feeling some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of his persisting in the interference. From what he had said of his resolution to prevent their marriage, it occurred to Spike that he must meditate an application to his niece; and how She might take a similar representation of the evils attached to a connection with him, he dared not pronounce. He knew not the exact degree of her affection for her uncle, or her dependence on his judgement, but it was natural to suppose that she thought much higher of his lordship than he could do; and it was certain that, in enumerating the miseries of a marriage with one whose immediate connections were so unequal to her own, her uncle would address her on her weakest side. With her notions of dignity, she would probably feel that the arguments, which to Spike had appeared weak and ridiculous, contained much good sense and solid reasoning.

If she had been wavering before as to what she should do, which had often seemed likely, the advice and entreaty of so near a relation might settle every doubt, and determine her at once to be as happy as dignity unblemished could make her. In that case she would return no more. Lord Snyder might see her in his way through town; and her engagement to Rosenburg of coming again to the burnt husk of Sunnydale High must give way.

"If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping her promise should come to her friend within a few days,'' he added, "I shall know how to understand it. I shall then give over every expectation, every wish of her constancy. If she is satisfied with only regretting me, when she might have obtained my affections and hand, I shall soon cease to regret her at all.'' 

The surprise of the rest of the family, on hearing who their visitor had been, was very great; but they obligingly satisfied it, with the same kind of supposition which had appeased Mayor Wilkins-le Bloddy's curiosity; and Spike was spared from much teazing on the subject.

The next morning, as he was going down stairs, he was met by his mother, who came out of her library with a letter in her hand.

"Spikey,'' said she, "I was going to look for you; come into my room.''

He followed her thither; and his curiosity to know what she had to tell his was heightened by the supposition of its being in some manner connected with the letter she held. It suddenly struck his that it might be from Lord Snyder; and he anticipated with dismay all the consequent explanations.

He followed his mother to the fire place, and they both sat down. She then said,

"I have received a letter the morning that has astonished me exceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you ought to know its contents. I did not know before, that I had two sons on the brink of matrimony. Let me congratulate you on a very important conquest.''

The colour now rushed into Spike's cheeks in the instantaneous conviction of its being a letter from the niece, instead of the uncle; and he was undetermined whether most to be pleased that she explained herself at all, or offended that her letter was not rather addressed to herself; when his mother continued,

"You look conscious. Young gentlemen have great penetration in such matters as these; but I think I may defy even your sagacity, to discover the name of your admirer. The letter is from Ms. Anya Nka.''

"From Ms. Anya Nka! and what can she have to say?''

"Something very much to the purpose of course. She begins with congratulations on the approaching nuptials of my eldest son, of which, it seems, she has been told by some of the good-natured, gossiping Walshes. I shall not sport with your impatience, by reading what she says on that point. What relates to yourself, is as follows.'' "Having thus offered you the sincere congratulations of Mr. Anya Nka and myself on the happy event, let me now add a short hint on the subject of another; of which we have been advertised by the same authority. Your son Spike, it is presumed, will not long bear the name of le Bloddy, after his elder brother has resigned it, and the chosen partner of his fate may be reasonably looked up to as one of the most illustrious personages in the land.''

"Can you possibly guess, Spikey, who is meant by this?'' "The young lady is blessed, in a peculiar way, with every thing the heart of mortal can most desire, -- splendid property, noble kindred, and extensive patronage. Yet in spite of all these temptations, let me warn my cousin Spike, and yourself, of what evils you may incur by a precipitate closure with the gentlewoman's proposals, which, of course, you will be inclined to take immediate advantage of.''

"Have you any idea, Spikey, who the lady is? But now it comes out.''

"My motive for cautioning you is as follows. We have reason to imagine that her uncle, Lord Snyder de Principal, does not look on the match with a friendly eye.''

" Mr.  Summers, you see, is the woman! Now, Spikey, I think I have surprised you. Could she, or the Walshes, have pitched on any woman within the circle of our acquaintance, whose name would have given the lie more effectually to what they related? Miss Buffy Summers, who never looks at any man but to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at you in her life! It is admirable!''

Spike tried to join in his mother's pleasantry, but could only force one most reluctant smile. Never had her wit been directed in a manner so little agreeable to him.

"Are you not diverted?''

"Oh! yes. Pray read on.''

"After mentioning the likelihood of the marriage to his lordship last night, he immediately, with his usual condescension, expressed what he felt on the occasion; when it become apparent, that on the score of some family objections on the part of my cousin, he would never give his consent to what he termed so disgraceful a match. I thought it my duty to give the speediest intelligence of the to my cousin, that he and his noble admirer may be aware of what they are about, and not run hastily into a marriage which has not been properly sanctioned.'' "Ms. Anya Nka moreover adds,'' "I am truly rejoiced that my cousin Angelus's sad business has been so well hushed up, and am only concerned that their living together before the marriage took place should be so generally known. I must not, however, neglect the duties of my station, or refrain from declaring my amazement at hearing that you received the young couple into your house as soon as they were married. It was an encouragement of vice; and had I been the rector of The Ubiquitous Warehouse of the Le Bloddy's, I should very strenuously have opposed it. You ought certainly to forgive them as a Christian, but never to admit them in your sight, or allow their names to be mentioned in your hearing.'' " That is her notion of Christian forgiveness! The rest of her letter is only about her dear Adam's situation, and her expectation of a young olive branch. But, Spikey, you look as if you did not enjoy it. You are not going to be Missish, I hope, and pretend to be affronted at an idle report. For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?''

"Oh!'' cried Spike, "I am excessively diverted. But it is so strange!''

"Yes -- that is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed on any other woman it would have been nothing; but her perfect indifference, and your pointed dislike, make it so delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate writing, I would not give up Ms. Anya Nka's correspondence for any consideration. Nay, when I read a letter of his, I cannot help giving her the preference even over Faith, much as I value the impudence and hypocrisy of my son-in-law. And pray, Spikey, what said Lord Snyder about the report? Did he call to refuse his consent?''

They walked towards the Walshes, because Doyle wished to call upon Forest; and as Spike saw no occasion for making it a general concern, when Doyle left them he went boldly on with her alone. Now was the moment for his resolution to be executed, and, while his courage was high, he immediately said,

"Miss Buffy Summers, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding your's. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor brother. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express.''

"I am sorry, exceedingly sorry,'' replied Summers, in a tone of surprise and emotion, "that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mr. Rupert Giles was so little to be trusted.''

"You must not blame my uncle. Angelus's thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering them.''

"If you will thank me,'' she replied, "let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you.''

Spike was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, his companion added, "You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once.  My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on the subject for ever.''

Spike, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of her situation, now forced himself to speak; and immediately, though not very fluently, gave her to understand that his sentiments had undergone so material a change, since the period to which she alluded, as to make his receive with gratitude and pleasure her present assurances. The happiness which the reply produced, was such as she had probably never felt before; and she expressed herself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a woman violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Spike been able to encounter her eye, he might have seen how well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over her face, became her; but, though he could not look, he could listen, and she told his of feelings, which, in proving of what importance he was to her, made her affection every moment more valuable.

They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. 

Spike was heard to esclaim, "It's just so sudden. I don't know what to say." 

And then for Miss Buffy to reply, "Just say yes, and make me the happiest woman on earth." 

And with the incoherence of love, "Oh, Buffy! Of course it's yes! However, we're not having a church wedding." 

"How 'bout a daytime ceremony. In the park." 

"Fabulous. Enjoy your honeymoon with the big pile of dust." 

"What are you talking about, you wander around outside all of the time." 

"Hmmm...you have a point. Outside wedding then and I'll hold a parasol or we pray for bleeding normal English weather." And the lovers walked on.

Miss Buffy soon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding to the efforts of her uncle, who did call on her in his return through Los Angeles, and there relate his journey to The Ubiquitous Warehouse of the Le Bloddy's, its motive, and the substance of his conversation with Spike; dwelling emphatically on every expression of the latter which, in his lordship's apprehension, peculiarly denoted his perverseness and assurance; in the belief that such a relation must assist his endeavours to obtain that promise from his niece which He had refused to give. But, unluckily for his lordship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise.

"It taught me to hope,'' said she, "as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lord Snyder, frankly and openly.''

Spike laughed as he replied, "Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations.''

"What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence.''

"We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that evening,'' said Spike. "The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I hope, improved in civility.''

"I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: "had you behaved in a more lady-like manner." Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me; -- though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.''

"I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way.''

"I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me.''

"Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it.''

Summers mentioned her letter. "Did it,'' said she, "did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?''

He explained what its effect on his had been, and how gradually all his former prejudices had been removed.

"I knew,'' said she, "that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might justly make you hate me.''

"The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies.''

"When I wrote that letter,'' replied Summers, "I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.''

"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.''

"I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of innocence. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only daughter (for many years an only child ), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my mother, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Spike! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You shewed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a man worthy of being pleased.''

"Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?''

"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses.''

"My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening?''

"Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction.''

"I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me, when we met at The Bronze. You blamed me for coming?''

"No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise.''

"Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due.''

"My object then,'' replied Summers, "was to shew you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you.''

She then told him of Xander's delight in his acquaintance, and of his disappointment at its sudden interruption; which naturally leading to the cause of that interruption, he soon learnt that her resolution of following him from the San Francisco Bay Area in quest of his brother had been formed before she quitted the inn, and that her gravity and thoughtfulness there had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend.

He expressed his gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to each, to be dwelt on farther.

After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know any thing about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that it was time to be at home.

"What could become of Willow and Oz!'' was a wonder which introduced the discussion of their affairs. Summers was delighted with their engagement; her friend had given her the earliest information of it.

"I must ask whether you were surprised?'' said Spike.

"Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen.''

"That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much.'' And though she exclaimed at the term, he found that it had been handsome much the case.

"On the evening before my going to Los Angeles,'' said she, "I made a confession to her, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told her of all that had occurred to make my former interference in her affairs absurd and impertinent. Her surprise was great. She had never had the slightest suspicion. I told her, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your brother was indifferent to her; and as I could easily perceive that her attachment to his was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together.''

Spike could not help smiling at her easy manner of directing her friend.

"Did you speak from your own observation,'' said he, "when you told her that my brother loved her, or merely from my information last spring?''

"From the former. I had narrowly observed his during the two visits which I had lately made here; and I was convinced of his affection.''

"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to her.''

"It did. Rosenburg is most unaffectedly modest. Her diffidence had prevented her depending on her own judgement in so anxious a case, but her reliance on mine made every thing easy. I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended her. I could not allow myself to conceal that your brother had been in town three months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from her. She was angry. But her anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than she remained in any doubt of your brother's sentiments. She has heartily forgiven me now.''

The evening passed quietly, unmarked by any thing extraordinary. The acknowledged lovers talked and laughed, the unacknowledged were silent. Summers was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth; and Spike, agitated and confused, rather knew that he was happy than felt himself to be so; for, besides the immediate embarrassment, there were other evils before him. He anticipated what would be felt in the family when his situation became known; he was aware that no one liked her but Oz; and even feared that with the others it was a dislike which not all her fortune and consequence might do away.

At night he opened his heart to Oz. Though suspicion was very far from Mr. le Bloddy's general habits, he was absolutely incredulous here.

"You are joking, Spikey. That cannot be! -- engaged to Miss Buffy Summers! No, no, you shall not deceive me. I know it to be impossible.''

"There is a wretched beginning indeed! My sole dependence was on you; and I am sure nobody else will believe me, if you do not. Yet, indeed, I am in earnest. I speak nothing but the truth. She still loves me, and we are engaged.''

Oz looked at his doubtingly. "Oh, Spikey! it cannot be. I know how much you dislike her.''

"You know nothing of the matter.  That is all to be forgot. Perhaps I did not always love her so well as I do now. But in such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable. There is the last time I shall ever remember it myself.''

Miss le Bloddy still looked all amazement. Spike again, and more seriously assured his of its truth.

"Good Heaven! can it be really so! Yet now I must believe you,'' cried Oz. "My dear, dear Spikey, I would -- I do congratulate you -- but are you certain? forgive the question -- are you quite certain that you can be happy with him?''

"There can be no doubt of that. It is settled between us already, that we are to be the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased, Oz? Shall you like to have such a sister?''

"Very, very much. Nothing could give either Rosenburg or myself more delight. But we considered it, we talked of it as impossible. And do you really love her quite well enough? Oh, Spikey! do any thing rather than marry without affection. Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought to do?''

"Oh, yes! You will only think I feel more than I ought to do, when I tell you all.''

"What do you mean?''

"Why, I must confess that I love her better than I do Rosenburg. I am afraid you will be angry.''

"My dearest brother, now be serious. I want to talk very seriously. Let me know every thing that I am to know, without delay. Will you tell me how long you have loved him?''

"It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began. But I believe I must date it from my first seeing her beautiful grounds at The Bronze.''

Another entreaty that he would be serious, however, produced the desired effect; and he soon satisfied Oz by his solemn assurances of attachment. When convinced on that article, Mr. le Bloddy had nothing farther to wish.

"Now I am quite happy,'' said he, "for you will be as happy as myself. I always had a value for her. Were it for nothing but her love of you, I must always have esteemed her; but now, as Rosenburg's friend and your wife, there can be only Rosenburg and yourself more dear to me. But Spikey, you have been very sly, very reserved with me. How little did you tell me of what passed at The Bronze and Napa! I owe all that I know of it to another, not to you.''

Spike told his the motives of his secrecy. He had been unwilling to mention Rosenburg; and the unsettled state of his own feelings had made his equally avoid the name of her friend. But now he would no longer conceal from him her share in Angelus's marriage. All was acknowledged, and half the night spent in conversation. 

"Good gracious!'' cried Mayor Wilkins-le Bloddy, as he stood at a window the next morning, "if that disagreeable Miss Buffy Summers is not coming here again with our dear Rosenburg! What can she mean by being so tiresome as to be always coming here? I had no notion but she would go a-shooting, or something or other, and not disturb us with her company. What shall we do with her? Spikey, you must walk out with her again, that she may not be in Rosenburg's way.''

Spike could hardly help laughing at so convenient a proposal; yet was really vexed that his father should be always giving her such an epithet.

As soon as they entered, Rosenburg looked at him so expressively, and shook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of her good information; and she soon afterwards said aloud, "Mayor Wilkins-le Bloddy, have you no more lanes hereabouts in which Spikey may lose his way again to-day?''

"I advise Miss Buffy Summers, and Spikey, and Doyle,'' said Mayor Wilkins-le Bloddy, "to walk to Oakham Mount the morning. It is a nice long walk, and Miss Buffy Summers has never seen the view.''

"It may do very well for the others,'' replied Willow; "but I am sure it will be too much for Doyle. Won't it, Doyle?'' Doyle owned that he had rather stay at home. Summers professed a great curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and Spike silently consented. As he went up stairs to get ready, Mayor Wilkins-le Bloddy followed him, saying,

"I am quite sorry, Spikey, that you should be forced to have that disagreeable woman all to yourself. But I hope you will not mind it: it is all for Oz's sake, you know; and there is no occasion for talking to her, except just now and then. So, do not put yourself to inconvenience.''

During their walk, it was resolved that Mrs. Joyce le Bloddy's consent should be asked in the course of the evening. Spike reserved to himself the application for his mother's. He could not determine how his father would take it; sometimes doubting whether all her wealth and grandeur would be enough to overcome his abhorrence of the woman. But whether he were violently set against the match, or violently delighted with it, it was certain that his manner would be equally ill adapted to do credit to his sense; and he could no more bear that Miss Buffy Summers should hear the first raptures of his joy, than the first vehemence of his disapprobation. 

In the evening, soon after Mrs. Joyce le Bloddy withdrew to the library, he saw Miss Buffy Summers rise also and follow her, and his agitation on seeing it was extreme. He did not fear his mother's opposition, but she was going to be made unhappy; and that it should be through his means -- that He, her favourite child, should be distressing her by his choice, should be filling her with fears and regrets in disposing of him -- was a wretched reflection, and he sat in misery till Miss Buffy Summers appeared again, when, looking at her, he was a little relieved by her smile. In a few minutes she approached the table where he was sitting with Doyle; and, while pretending to admire his work said in a whisper, "Go to your mother, she wants you in the library.'' He was gone directly.

His mother was walking about the room, looking grave and anxious. "Spikey,'' said she, "what are you doing? Are you out of your senses, to be accepting the man? Have not you always hated him?''

How earnestly did he then wish that his former opinions had been more reasonable, his expressions more moderate! It would have spared him from explanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkward to give; but they were now necessary, and he assured her, with some confusion, of his attachment to Miss Buffy Summers.

"Or, in other words, you are determined to have her. She is rich, to be sure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine carriages than Oz. But will they make you happy?''

"Have you any other objection,'' said Spike, "than your belief of my indifference?''

"None at all. We all know her to be a proud, unpleasant sort of woman; but the would be nothing if you really liked her.''

"I do, I do like her,'' he replied, with tears in his eyes, "I love her. Indeed she has no improper pride. She is perfectly amiable. You do not know what she really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of her in such terms.''

"Spikey,'' said his mother, "I have given her my consent. She is the Slayer, the kind of woman, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse any thing, which she condescended to ask. I now give it to you, if you are resolved on having her. But let me advise you to think better of it. I know your disposition, Spikey. I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable, unless you truly esteemed your wife; unless you looked up to her as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are about.''

Spike, still more affected, was earnest and solemn in his reply; and at length, by repeated assurances that Miss Buffy Summers was really the object of his choice, by explaining the gradual change which his estimation of her had undergone, relating his absolute certainty that her affection was not the work of a day, but had stood the test of many months suspense, and enumerating with energy all her good qualities, he did conquer his mother's incredulity, and reconcile her to the match.

"Well, my dear,'' said she, when he ceased speaking, "I have no more to say. If the be the case, she deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Spikey, to any one less worthy.''

To complete the favourable impression, he then told her what Miss Buffy Summers had voluntarily done for Angelus. She heard his with astonishment.

"There is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so, Summers did every thing: made up the match, gave the money, paid the lass's debts, and got her her commission! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble and economy. Had it been your uncle's doing, I must and would have paid her; but these violent young lovers carry every thing their own way. I shall offer to pay her to-morrow; she will rant and storm about her love for you, and there will be an end of the matter.''

She then recollected his embarrassment a few days before, on her reading Ms. Anya Nka's letter; and after laughing at him some time, allowed him at last to go -- saying, as he quitted the room, "If any young women come for Anointed One or Doyle, send them in, for I am quite at leisure.''

Spike's mind was now relieved from a very heavy weight; and, after half an hour's quiet reflection in his own room, he was able to join the others with tolerable composure. Every thing was too recent for gaiety, but the evening passed tranquilly away; there was no longer any thing material to be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity would come in time.

When his father went up to his dressing room at night, he followed him, and made the important communication. Its effect was most extraordinary; for on first hearing it, Mayor Wilkins-le Bloddy sat quite still, and unable to utter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes that he could comprehend what he heard; though not in general backward to credit what was for the advantage of his family, or that came in the shape of a lover to any of them. He began at length to recover, to fidget about in his chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless himself.

"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Miss Buffy Summers! Who would have thought it! And is it really true? Oh! my sweetest Spikey! how rich and how great you will be! What pin money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! Oz's is nothing to it -- nothing at all. I am so pleased -- so happy. Such a charming woman! -- so handsome! so strong! -- Oh, my dear Spikey! pray apologize for my having disliked her so much before. I hope she will overlook it. Dear, dear Spikey. A house in town! Every thing that is charming! Three sons married! Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will become of me. I shall go distracted.''

There was enough to prove that his approbation need not be doubted: and Spike, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by himself, soon went away. But before he had been three minutes in his own room, his father followed him.

"My dearest child,'' he cried, "I can think of nothing else! Ten thousand a year, and very likely more! 'Tis as good as a Lady! And a special licence. You must and shall be married by a special licence. But my dearest love, tell me what dish Miss Buffy Summers is particularly fond of, that I may have it tomorrow.''

There was a sad omen of what his father's behaviour to the lady herself might be; and Spike found that, though in the certain possession of her warmest affection, and secure of his relations' consent, there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow passed off much better than he expected; for Mayor Wilkins-le Bloddy luckily stood in such awe of his intended son-in-law that he ventured not to speak to her, unless it was in his power to offer her any attention, or mark his deference for her opinion.

Spike had the satisfaction of seeing his mother taking pains to get acquainted with her; and Mrs. Joyce le Bloddy soon assured his that she was rising every hour in her esteem.

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.''

"My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners -- my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?''

"For the liveliness of your mind, I did.''

"You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less. The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the men who were always speaking, and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused, and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you. There -- I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me -- but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love.''

"Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Oz while he was ill at the burnt husk of Sunnydale High?''

"Dearest Oz! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teazing and quarrelling with you as often as may be; and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?''

"Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.''

"But I was embarrassed.''

"And so was I.''

"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.''

"A woman who had felt less, might.''

"How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you would have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when you would have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution of thanking you for your kindness to Angelus had certainly great effect.  Too  much, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort springs from a breach of promise? for I ought not to have mentioned the subject. That will never do.''

"You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lord Snyder's unjustifiable endeavours to separate us were the means of removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for any opening of your's. My uncle's intelligence had given me hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing.''

"Lord Snyder has been of infinite use, which ought to make him happy, for he loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to the burnt husk of Sunnydale High for? Was it merely to ride to The Ubiquitous Warehouse of the Le Bloddy's and be embarrassed? or had you intended any more serious consequence?''

"My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to myself, was to see whether your brother were still partial to Rosenburg, and if he were, to make the confession to her which I have since made.''

"Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lord Snyder what is to befall her?''

"I am more likely to want more time than courage, Spike. But it ought to done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done directly.''

"And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you and admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lord once did. But I have an uncle, too, who must not be longer neglected.''

From an unwillingness to confess how much his intimacy with Miss Buffy Summers had been over-rated, Spike had never yet answered Mr. Rupert Giles' long letter; but now, having that to communicate which he knew would be most welcome, he was almost ashamed to find that his aunt and uncle had already lost three days of happiness, and immediately wrote as follows:

"I would have thanked you before, my dear uncle, as I ought to have done, for your long, kind, satisfactory, detail of particulars; but to say the truth, I was too cross to write. You supposed more than really existed. But now suppose as much as you chuse; give a loose to your fancy, indulge your imagination in every possible flight which the subject will afford, and unless you believe me actually married, you cannot greatly err. You must write again very soon, and praise her a great deal more than you did in your last. I thank you, again and again, for not going to the Lake Tahoe. How could I be so silly as to wish it! Your idea of the ponies is delightful. We will go round the Park every day. I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Oz; he only smiles, I laugh. Miss Buffy Summers sends you all the love in the world that she can spare from me. You are all to come to The Bronze at Christmas. Your's, &c.''

Miss Buffy Summers' letter to Lord Snyder was in a different style; and still different from either was what Mrs. Joyce le Bloddy sent to Ms. Anya Nka, in reply to her last.

"DEAR Ma'am,

I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Spike will soon be the husband of Miss Buffy Summers. Console Lord Snyder as well as you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the niece. She has more to give.

Your's sincerely, &c.''

Mr. Riley Rosenburg's congratulations to his sister, on her approaching marriage, were all that was affectionate and insincere. He wrote even to Oz on the occasion, to express his delight, and repeat all his former professions of regard. Oz was not deceived, but he was affected; and though feeling no reliance on him, could not help writing him a much kinder answer than he knew was deserved.

The joy which Mr. Summers expressed on receiving similar information, was as sincere as his sister's in sending it. Four sides of paper were insufficient to contain all his delight, and all his earnest desire of being loved by his brother.

Before any answer could arrive from Ms. Anya Nka, or any congratulations to Spike from her husband, the Ubiquitous Warehouse of the Le Bloddy's family heard that the Anya Nkaes were come themselves to Walsh lodge. The reason of the sudden removal was soon evident. Lord Snyder had been rendered so exceedingly angry by the contents of his niece's letter, that Adam, really rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away till the storm was blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of his friend was a sincere pleasure to Spike, though in the course of their meetings he must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, when he saw Miss Buffy Summers exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of his wife. She bore it, however, with admirable calmness. She could even listen to Dame Walsh, when she complimented her on carrying away the brightest jewel of the country, and expressed her hopes of their all meeting frequently at the capital's, with very decent composure. If she did shrug her shoulders, it was not till Dame Walsh was out of sight.

Mrs. Joyce le Bloddy missed her second son exceedingly; her affection for him drew her oftener from home than any thing else could do. She delighted in going to The Bronze, especially when she was least expected.

Willow and Oz remained at the burnt husk of Sunnydale High only a twelvemonth. So near a vicinity to his father and Sunnydale relations was not desirable even to her easy temper, or his affectionate heart. The darling wish of her brothers was then gratified; she bought an estate in a neighbouring county to The San Francisco Bay Area, and Oz and Spike, in addition to every other source of happiness, were within thirty miles of each other.

Doyle, to his very material advantage, spent the chief of his time with his two elder brothers. In society so superior to what he had generally known, his improvement was great. He was not of so ungovernable a temper as Angelus; and, removed from the influence of Angelus's example, he became, by proper attention and management, less irritable, less ignorant, and less insipid. From the farther disadvantage of Angelus's society he was of course carefully kept, and though Mr. Faith frequently invited him to come and stay with him, with the promise of sparring matches and young women, his mother would never consent to his going.

Anointed One was the only son who remained at home; and he was necessarily drawn from the pursuit of accomplishments by Mayor Wilkins-le Bloddy's being quite unable to sit alone. Anointed One was obliged to mix more with the world, but he could still moralize over every morning visit; and as he was no longer mortified by comparisons between his brothers' beauty and his own, it was suspected by his mother that he submitted to the change without much reluctance.

As for Faith and Angelus, their characters suffered no revolution from the marriage of his brothers. She bore with philosophy the conviction that Spike must now become acquainted with whatever of her ingratitude and falsehood had before been unknown to her; and in spite of every thing, was not wholly without hope that Summers might yet be prevailed on to make her fortune. The congratulatory letter which Spike received from Angelus on his marriage, explained to him that, by her husband at least, if not by herself, such a hope was cherished. The letter was to the effect:

"MY DEAR Spikey,

I wish you joy. If you love Miss Buffy Summers half as well as I do my dear Faith, you must be very happy. It is a great comfort to have you so rich, and when you have nothing else to do, I hope you will think of us. I am sure Faith would like a place at court very much, and I do not think we shall have quite money enough to live upon without some help. Any place would do, of about three or four hundred a year; but however, do not speak to Miss Buffy Summers about it, if you had rather not.

Your's, &c.''

As it happened that Spike had much rather not, he endeavoured in his answer to put an end to every entreaty and expectation of the kind. Such relief, however, as it was in his power to afford, by the practice of what might be called economy in his own private expenses, he frequently sent them. It had always been evident to him that such an income as theirs, under the direction of two persons so extravagant in their wants, and heedless of the future, must be very insufficient to their support; and whenever they changed their quarters, either Oz or himself were sure of being applied to for some little assistance towards discharging their bills. Their manner of living, even when the restoration of peace dismissed them to a home, was unsettled in the extreme. They were always moving from place to place in quest of a cheap situation, and always spending more than they ought. Her affection for him soon sunk into indifference; his lasted a little longer; and in spite of his youth and his manners, he retained all the claims to reputation which his marriage had given him.

Though Summers could never receive him at The Bronze, yet, for Spike's sake, she assisted her farther in her profession. Angelus was occasionally a visitor there, when his wife was gone to enjoy herself in Los Angeles or Bath; and with the Rosenburgs they both of them frequently staid so long, that even Rosenburg's good humour was overcome, and she proceeded so far as to talk of giving them a hint to be gone.

Mr. Riley Rosenburg was very deeply mortified by Summers' marriage; but as he thought it advisable to retain the right of visiting at The Bronze, he dropt all his resentment; was fonder than ever of Xander, almost as attentive to Summers as heretofore, and paid off every arrear of civility to Spike.

The Bronze was now Xander's home; and the attachment of the brothers was exactly what Summers had hoped to see. They were able to love each other even as well as they intended. Xander had the highest opinion in the world of Spike; though at first he often listened with an astonishment bordering on alarm at his lively, sportive, manner of talking to his sister. He, who had always inspired in himself a respect which almost overcame his affection, he now saw the object of open pleasantry. His mind received knowledge which had never before fallen in his way. By Spike's instructions, he began to comprehend that a man may take liberties with his wife which a sister will not always allow in a brother.

Lord Snyder was extremely indignant on the marriage of his niece; and as he gave way to all the genuine frankness of his character in his reply to the letter which announced its arrangement, he sent her language so very abusive, especially of Spike, that for some time all intercourse was at an end. But at length, by Spike's persuasion, she was prevailed on to overlook the offence, and seek a reconciliation; and, after a little farther resistance on the part of her uncle, his resentment gave way, either to his affection for her, or his curiosity to see how her husband conducted herself; and he condescended to wait on them at The Bronze, in spite of that pollution which its woods had received, not merely from the presence of such a master, but the visits of his aunt and uncle from the city.