and this meadow was skirted by a young plantation. Half-way
down there was a broad stile between the two. He hurried his steps,
and arrived there just as Aspatria entered the meadow. There was a
high frolicking wind blowing right in her face. It had blown her
braids loose, and her tippet and dress backward; her slim form was
sharply defined by it, and it compelled her to hold up both her hands
in order to keep her hat on her head.

She came on so, treading lightly, almost dancing with the merry gusts
to and fro. Once Ulfar heard a little cry that was half laughter, as
the wind made her pirouette and then stand still to catch her breath.
Ulfar thought the picture bewitching. He waited until she was within a
yard or two of the stile, ere he crossed it. She was holding her hat
down: she did not see him until he could have put his hand upon her.
Then she let her hands fall, and her hat blew backward, and she stood
quite still and quite speechless, her colour coming and going, all a
woman's softest witchery beaming in her eyes.

"Aspatria! dear Aspatria! I am come to take you with me. I am going to
America." He spoke a little sadly, as if he had some reason for
feeling grieved.

She shook her head positively, but she did not, or she could not,
speak.

"Aspatria, have you no kiss, no word of welcome, no love to give me?"
And he put out his hand, as if to draw her to his embrace.

She stepped quickly backward: "No, no, no! Do not touch me, Ulfar. Go
away. Please go away!"

"But you must go with me. You are my wife, Aspatria." And he said the
last words very like a command.

"I am not your wife. Oh, no!"

"I say you are. I married you in Aspatria Church."

"You also left me there, left me to such shame and sorrow as no man
gives to the woman he loves."

"Perhaps I did act cruelly in two or three ways, Aspatria; but people
who love forgive two or three offences. Let us be lovers as we used to
be."

"No, I will not be lovers as we used to be. People who love do not
commit two or three such offences as you committed against me."

"I will atone for them. I will indeed! Aspatria, I miss you very much.
I will not go to America without you. How soon can you be ready? In a
week?"

"You will atone to me? How? There is but one way. You shall, in your
own name, call every one in Allerdale, gentle and simple, to Aspatria
Church. You shall marry me again in their presence, and go with me to
my own home. The wedding-feast s