that dim
future that was drawing so very near. Every feeling of heart and soul
revolted at the thought of that loveless marriage--the profanation of
herself seemed more than she could bear.

"I shall turn desperate at the very altar!" she thought, with something
like despair. "I can't marry him--I can't! It sets me wild to think of
it. What a wretch I am! What a weak, miserable, cowardly wretch, not to
be able to face the fate I have chosen for myself! I don't know what to
do, and I have no one to consult--no one but Father Francis, and I am
afraid to speak to him. I don't love him; I loathe the thought of
marrying him; but it is too late to draw back. If one could only die,
and end it all!"

Her arm lay across the window-sill; her head drooped and fell on it now,
with a heavy sigh. She was unspeakably miserable, and lonely, and
desolate; she was going to seal her misery for life by a loveless
marriage, which her soul abhorred, and she had no power to draw back.
She was like a rudderless ship, drifting without helm or compass among
shoals and quicksands--drifting helplessly to ruin.

"If I dared only ask Father Francis, he would tell me what to do," she
thought, despondingly; "he is so wise and good, and knows what is best
for every one. He would tell me how to do what is right, and I want to
do what is right if I can. But I have neglected, and avoided, and
prevaricated with him so long that I have no right to trouble him now.
And I know he would tell me I am doing wrong; I have read it in his
face; and how can I do right?"

She sat thinking drearily, her face lying on her arm. It was the
afternoon of the 14th--ten days more, and it would indeed, be too late.
The nearer the marriage approached, the more abhorrent it grew. The
waving trees of Glen-Keith cast inviting shadows no longer. It was all
darkness and desolation. Sir Ronald's moody, angry face frightened and
distressed her--it was natural, she supposed. She did not behave well,
but he knew she did not care for him; she had told him so, honestly and
plainly; and if he looked like that before marriage, how would he look
after? She was unutterably wretched, poor child; and a remorseful
conscience that would give her no rest did not add to her comfort.

She sat there for a long time, her face hidden on her arm, quite still.
The short, wintry afternoon was wearing away; the cold, yellow sun hung
low in the pale western sky, and the evening wind was sighing mournf