CHAPTER XVI.

A widow bird sat mourning for her love

Upon a wintry bough,

The freezing sky crept on above,

The freezing stream below.

SHELLEY.

"Weep not for the dead neither bemoan him, but weep sore for him that goeth away, for he shall return no more, nor see his native country."

THE brief winter afternoon was drawing to its close, and the sun was setting, a pale yellow ball, behind a copse of sturdy fir trees, which at the west of the village of Grantham rose up high and dark against the sky. It seemed to be vanishing early, as though in disgust at the ugliness and bareness of the frost-bound world, and night was hastening up to shroud with her friendly veil the dingy landscape, its miry ploughed fields, skeleton trees, isolated hay ricks, and grey allpervading fog. Can this be the same earth which a few months since was ablaze with light and colour-stretching its green glories before the view, like an emerald island in a sapphire sea, whose trees waved their laden branches with a ceaseless murmur against the azure sky, whose bright flowers bathed their gentle hues in divinest sunlight, whose very air was impregnated through and through with warmth and sweetness? Who has

wrought the transformation? It is the old jester,-Time,-who makes but to mar; whose scythe mows down the choicest flowers in his carefully-stocked garden; who disfigures his own gay paintings, and who daily drives his victim-children like flocks of sheep towards the open shambles of cruel Death.

Coming over a high, brown ridge of earth, and descending into the valley, whence rose the red brick chimneys of the Rectory, four girls moved at a vigorous pace, warmly wrapped in furs. It was the day before Nina's wedding, and the bride-elect had driven to the station to meet the anxiously expected Mr. Meules. Geraldine and Gertrude Egerton had walked with Ann and Josephine Nutting to some distant cottages in their father's parish, and Ann had seized the opportunity of sowing seed by the wayside in the shape of anti-sacramentarian tracts, which she had dropped here and there, in the hope that they might be picked up and inwardly digested by any unsound rustic theologians that might pass that way. Onward she stumped with cheery vigour, her nose and cheeks stung into purple by the bitter atmosphere, and bearing the chilblains on her hands and the clods of mud on her weary feet with Spartan fortitude.

Geraldine walked with the same free, swinging pace as ever; but old Time had played his tricks with her too, and the snows of a spiritual winter had fallen on her cheeks,

once so blooming. She was talking animatedly enough with Ann, but ever and anon she lifted her eyes from the repellent, unlovely scene around her, and gazed with yearning weariness towards that one part of the cloudladen sky where the sinking sun had cleared himself a little space, and where his yellow light mocked the eye with its impenetrable depth of crystal clearness.

"Let's get on quick," said Ann. "Put your best leg forward, Joey; I wouldn't miss the arrival of the bride and bridegroom for anything!"

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They won't be here very punctually for certain,' said Gertrude. "Think of the endless shops the carriage has to call at, and the wedding-cake, and the hams, and all the good things that have to be brought home."

"I am sure one oughtn't to have wanted anything from town," said Josephine, "with all those beautiful fowls and creams and cakes that have been done at home. Really the larder was a perfect sight this morning."

"Have you made up your mind to be present at the ceremony, dear?" asked Ann of Geraldine, softening her blunt voice to accents of respectful sympathy.

"You forget I am to officiate as bridesmaid," she answered, smiling.

"'Tis a long while since I have attended a marriage by a minister of the Establishment, said Ann; "not once during Mr. Johnson's

pastorate that I can remember. I hope, Geraldine, there won't be anything very 'high' in the service.”

"I don't mind singing a hymn," put in little Josephine, in a conciliatory tone, "but I do hope we shan't be having choristers in surplices, or anything of that sort. It would give one an unpleasant sort of feeling, as if they hadn't been properly married."

"It'll be entered right enough in the register at all events, Joey," said Gertrude; "and for additional security, you might have it announced in the Times."

"And after the Archdeacon has been so handsome about the breakfast, I am sure we oughtn't to make a fuss," said Ann aside to her sister. "I don't suppose the Romanising clergy are ever married in their vestments, are they?"

"O, if Herbert wears anything of that sort, I am sure his black gown would look far the nicest," gasped Joey, breathing hard as she attempted to keep up with Ann.

At this moment the voice of little Harriet could be heard, calling from an upper window of the Rectory.

"Run, run, Nuttings all!" she cried; "the carriage has turned the corner, and the lovers will be here directly. Georgy has gone to the gate to wave his flag.'

Thus adjured, the little party redoubled speed, and succeeded in reaching the Rectory before the descent of Herbert and Nina from

the carriage. Mrs. Egerton stood at the door ready to receive the young couple with open hands of hospitable welcome, and around her clung an obstructive throng of excited little children. Nina crossed the courtyard leaning on the arm of her affianced husband, but on reaching the porch quitted it, to throw herself impetuously into her friend's arms."

"He is so good, so very, very dear," she whispered. And oh dearest Mrs. Egerton, if you could only have heard how beautifully he has been speaking on the way home about the responsibilities and privileges of Holy Matrimony!"

And then, flying round the group, she repeated the same process to each in turn; while Mr. Meules, stretching his long craneneck, received the felicitations of his hostess with an air of feeble jocularity. He seemed fully alive to the pleasure and importance of his position; and as he pressed his thin lips to the cheeks of his new sisters-in-law, still wet with Nina's happy tears, he glanced curiously at Geraldine, perhaps noting the contrast between her gay manners and her pale cheeks and heavy eyes, around which sleepless nights had drawn dark circles. But scant time was allowed him for observation, and impelled forward by eager feminine hands and voices, Herbert was now guided to the drawing-room, where the senior Miss Nutting, on the extreme edge of an armchair, awaited