and every one in the village knew that the tall,
broad-shouldered man with the fair beard and handsome, aristocratic
face was the young master from Redmond Hall, who was to marry Miss
Margaret, the vicar's sister.

But even young Sam Tibbs leaves off admiring his hob-nailed boots to
stare at the brown, sickly-looking gentleman with the white mustache
that occupies the other end of the seat; and Margaret, sitting with
the school-children, looks curiously in the same direction, for this
is the first time that she has seen Sir Wilfred Redmond since his
return from Persia.

Both father and son are wonderfully alike, she thinks; they have both
the same heavy-lidded, blue-gray eyes, the same proud carriage of the
head and stately presence; but the bright, sunshiny smile that greeted
her from Hugh Redmond is certainly not reproduced on his father's
somber face. Sir Wilfred looked ill and saddened; and evidently the
report that ill-health had brought his researches to a speedy end was
probably true.

Sir Wilfred listened with grave attention to Mr. Ferrers's eloquent
sermon. The deep, musical voice, and fine delivery seemed to rivet
him; he sat motionless, with his thin hands grasping each other, his
eyes fixed on the pale, powerful face which the morning sunshine
touched with a sort of glory.

As usual, Hugh Redmond's attention strayed to the corner where
Margaret sat, the light from the painted window reached her, staining
her white gown with patches of prismatic color--a bordering of crimson
and blue and violet--and giving a golden tinge to her dead-brown hair;
and as Hugh looks at her he tells himself again that he has never seen
any one to compare with her--his pearl among women.

When the service was over, and the small congregation had streamed out
of the church, Sir Wilfred left his seat and walked up the aisle to
inspect the chancel. He evidently thought his son was following him,
for he turned round once to address him; but Hugh had noticed that
Margaret had quietly slipped through a side door, and he hastily
followed her.

She was standing under the shade of a willow, looking at a newly made
grave, but she turned with a smile when she saw him striding over the
grass, with the sun shining on his golden-brown head.

"Margaret," he said, reproachfully, "why have you not waited to speak
to my father? Raby has just joined him."

A quick blush crossed Margaret's face--her lover's question seemed to
pain her--bu