heart, and Brune, carefully watching her, followed close behind.

But Aspatria's inner self had taken possession of the outer woman. She
walked firmly and proudly, with an erect grace, without hesitation and
without hurry, toward her fate. Something within her kept saying words
of love and encouragement; she knew not what they were, only they
strengthened her like wine. She passed the church door whispering the
promise given her,--"It is I. Be not afraid." And then her eyes fell
upon the ancient stone font, at which her father and mother had named
her. She put out her hand and just touched its holy chalice.

The church was crowded with a curious and not unsympathetic
congregation. Aspatria Anneys was their own, a dales-woman by a
thousand years of birthright. Fenwick was a stranger. If he were going
to do her any wrong, and Will Anneys was ready to punish him for it,
every man and woman present would have stood shoulder to shoulder with
Will. There was an undefined expectation of something unusual, of
something more than a wedding. This feeling, though unexpressed, made
itself felt in a very pronounced way. Will and Brune looked
confidingly around; Aspatria gathered courage with every step. She
felt that she was among her own people, living and dead.

As soon as they really entered the church, they saw Fenwick. He was
with an officer wearing the uniform of the Household Troops; and
he was evidently pointing out to him the ancient tombs of the
Ambar-Anneys family, the Crusaders in stone, with sheathed swords
and hands folded in prayer, and those of the family abbots, adorned
with richly floriated crosses.

When he saw Aspatria he bowed, and advanced rapidly to the altar. She
had loosened her cloak and flung back her hood, and she watched his
approach with eyes that seemed two separate souls of love and sorrow.
One glance from them troubled him to the seat of life. He motioned to
the waiting clergyman, and took his place beside his bride. There was
a dead stillness in the church, and a dead stillness outside; the
neighing of a horse sounded sharp, imperative, fateful. A ripple of a
smile followed; it was a lucky omen to hear a horse neigh. Brune
glanced at his sister, but she had not heeded it. Her whole being was
swallowed up in the fact that she was standing at Ulfar's side, that
she was going to be his wife.

The aged clergyman was fumbling with the Prayer Book: "The Form of
Solemnization of Matrimony" seemed ha