to do these grand
weddings. But they'll be a-coming out directly, for here's Miss Minson
putting the bairns straight with the flowers. But who's yon?"

The first old man shaded his eyes with his hands, as a tall figure, in a
brown travelling suit, crossed the churchyard hastily from the rectory
garden-gate, hurried up to the chancel door, peered in, and then, as if
struck a violent blow, he reeled back against a tombstone, to which he
clung for a few moments, till, recovering himself, he made his way in a
blind, groping fashion, towards the south door, close to whose porch sat
the two old men. There was a fair gravel-path, but he saw it not; but
walked straight forward, stumbling over the mounds of the dead in his
way, and feeling with outstretched hands the tombs--passing himself
along, till, clear of the obstacles, he again pressed on to the great
railed vault of the Gernon family, hard by the porch, where, holding by
one hand to the iron rails, he tore off his broad soft felt hat, and
stood gazing into the church.

The school children, flower-basket in hand, shrank back; for there was
something startling in the strangers appearance. For though quietly and
gentlemanly dressed, his face was wild--his eyes staring. At first
sight a looker-on would have raised his eyebrows, and muttered, "Drunk!"
But a second glance would have shown that the owner of that bronzed
face, handsome once, but now disfigured by the great scar of a
sabre-slash passing obliquely from temple to jaw, was suffering from
some great emotion, one which made his breast to heave, as his teeth
grated together, one hand tearing the while at his handkerchief, as
though he wanted air.

A few seconds, though, and the stranger grew apparently calm, as the
people began to flock out, and the children excitedly grasped handfuls
of flowers; while, though the newcomer took a step forward, so as to be
in front of the double line of children, through which the bridal
procession was to pass, he was unnoticed; for now the cry rose of "Here
they come!" and the three bells struck up their sonorous chime--sweet,
though wanting in proper cadence; for the old bells dated from days when
the monks blessed, and threw in their silver offering to the molten
metal.

"Now, lads! hooray!" piped one of the old fellows, climbing, by his
companion's aid, to the tombstone, where he stood, bent of back, feebly
waving his stick. "Hooray! and long life to Sir Murray and his lad