s chilling successor.

And they stood beside the altar, and their vows were exchanged. A
slight tremor came over Algernon's frame, a slight shade darkened
his countenance; for even in that bridal hour an icy and thrilling
foreboding curdled to his heart; it passed,--the ceremony was over,
and Mordaunt bore his blushing and weeping bride from the church. His
carriage was in attendance; for, not knowing how long the home of
his ancestors might be his, he was impatient to return to it. The old
Countess d'Arcy, Mordaunt's relation, with whom Isabel had been staying,
called them back to bless them; for, even through the coldness of old
age, she was touched by the singularity of their love and affected by
their nobleness of heart. She laid her wan and shrivelled hand upon
each, as she bade them farewell, and each shrank back involuntarily, for
the cold and light touch seemed like the fingers of the dead.

Fearful, indeed, is the vicinity of death and life,--the bridal chamber
and the charnel. That night the old woman died. It appeared as if Fate
had set its seal upon the union it had so long forbidden, and had woven
a dark thread even in the marriage-bond. At least, it tore from two
hearts, over which the cloud and the blast lay couched in a "grim
repose," the last shelter, which, however frail and distant, seemed left
to them upon the inhospitable earth.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Live while ye may, yet happy pair; enjoy
Short pleasures, for long woes are to succeed.--MILTON.

The autumn and the winter passed away; Mordaunt's relation continued
implacable. Algernon grieved for this, independent of worldly
circumstances; for, though he had seldom seen that relation, yet he
loved him for former kindness--rather promised, to be sure, than
yet shown--with the natural warmth of an affection which has but few
objects. However, the old gentleman (a very short, very fat person; very
short and very fat people, when they are surly, are the devil and all;
for the humours of their mind, like those of their body, have something
corrupt and unpurgeable in them) wrote him one bluff, contemptuous
letter, in a witty strain,--for he was a bit of a humourist,--disowned
his connection, and very shortly afterwards died, and left all his
fortune to the very Mr. Vavasour who was at law with Mordaunt, and for
whom he had always openly expressed the strongest personal dislike:
spite to one relation is a marvellous tie to another. Meanwhile the