ded mind of one of these noble parties might be healed, in reward
of her compliance with the advice of her right honourable parents; and
that, as she had proved herself a child after God's commandment, by
honouring her father and mother, she and hers might enjoy the promised
blessing--length of days in the land here, and a happy portion hereafter
in a better country. He prayed farther, that the bridegroom might
be weaned from those follies which seduced youth from the path of
knowledge; that he might cease to take delight in vain and unprofitable
company, scoffers, rioters, and those who sit late at the wine (here
Bucklaw winked at Craigengelt), and cease from the society that causeth
to err. A suitable supplication in behalf of Sir William and Lady Ashton
and their family concluded this religious address, which thus embraced
every individual present excepting Craigengelt, whom the worthy divine
probably considered as past all hopes of grace.

The business of the day now went forward: Sir William Ashton signed
the contract with legal solemnity and precision; his son, with military
nonchalance; and Bucklaw, having subscribed as rapidly as Craigengelt
could manage to turn the leaves, concluded by wiping his pen on that
worthy's new laced cravat. It was now Miss Ashton's turn to sign the
writings, and she was guided by her watchful mother to the table for
that purpose. At her first attempt, she began to write with a dry pen,
and when the circumstance was pointed out, seemed unable, after several
attempts, to dip it in the massive silver ink-standish, which stood full
before her. Lady Ashton's vigilance hastened to supply the deficiency. I
have myself seen the fatal deed, and in the distinct characters in which
the name of Lucy Ashton is traced on each page there is only a very
slight tremulous irregularity, indicative of her state of mind at the
time of the subscription. But the last signature is incomplete, defaced,
and blotted; for, while her hand was employed in tracing it, the hasty
tramp of a horse was heard at the gate, succeeded by a step in the
outer gallery, and a voice which, in a commanding tone, bore down the
opposition of the menials. The pen dropped from Lucy's fingers, as she
exclaimed with a faint shriek: "He is come--he is come!"

CHAPTER XXXIII.

This by his tongue should be a Montague!
Fetch me my rapier, boy;
Now, by the faith and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold