owed head, she knelt there. Will's
voice, strenuous and stern, reached her at intervals. She knew from
the silence in the kitchen and farm-offices, and the hasty movements
of the servants, that Will was cross; and she greatly feared her
eldest brother when he was in what Brune called one of his rages.

A long lull was followed by a sharp call. It was Will calling her
name. She felt it impossible to answer, impossible to move; and as he
ascended the stairs and came grumbling along the corridor, she
crouched lower and lower. He was at her door, his hand on the latch;
then a few piteous words broke from her lips: "Help, Christ, Saviour
of the world!"

Instantly, like a flash of lightning, came the answer, "It is I. Be
not afraid." She said the words herself, gave to her heart the promise
and the comfort of it, and, so saying them, she drew back the bolt and
stood facing her brother. He had a candle in his hand, and it showed
her his red, angry face, and showed him the pale, resolute countenance
of a woman who had prayed and been comforted.

He walked into the room and put the candle down on a small table in
its centre. They both stood a moment by it; then Aspatria lifted her
face to her brother and kissed him. He was taken aback and softened,
and troubled at his heart. Her suffering was so evident; she was such
a gray shadow of her former self.

"Aspatria! Aspatria! my little lass!" Then he stopped and looked at
her again.

"What is it, Will? Dear Will, what is it?"

"You must be married on the fifteenth. Get something ready. I will see
Mrs. Frostham and ask her to help you a bit."

"Whom am I to marry, Will? On the fifteenth? It is impossible! See how
ill I am!"

"You are to marry Ulfar Fenwick. Ill? Of course you are ill; but you
must go to Aspatria Church on the fifteenth. Ulfar Fenwick will meet
you there. He will make you his wife."

"You have forced him to marry me. I will not go, I will not go. I will
not marry Ulfar Fenwick."

"You shall go, if I carry you in my arms! You shall marry him, or
I--will--kill--you!"

"Then kill me! Death does not terrify me. Nothing can be more cruel
hard than the life I have lived for a long time."

He looked at her steadily, and she returned the gaze. His face was
like a flame; hers was white as snow.

"There are things in life worse than death, Aspatria. There is
dishonour, disgrace, shame."

"Is sorrow dishonour? Is it a disgrace to love? Is it a shame to weep
w