him, "is one of my reasons for outriding my fellow-traveller."

"The clergyman?"

"Ay . . . To-morrow, maybe, you'll admit to having misjudged us."

"Maybe," Mr. Trask conceded. "I shall at any rate thank God,
provisionally. He is merciful. But I have difficulty in believing that
any good can come of it."

Chapter V.

RUTH'S WEDDING DAY.

She had left it all to him, receiving his instructions by letter.
It was to be quite private, as he had told Mr. Trask. She would ride
down to the village in her customary grey habit, as though on an early
errand of shopping. He would lodge overnight at the Ferry Inn, and be
awaiting her by the chancel step. Afterwards--ah, that was her secret!
In this, their first stage in married life, he had promised--reversing
the marriage vow--to obey.

Happiness bubbled within her like a spring; overshadowed by a little
awe, but not to be held down. Almost at the last moment she must take
Mrs. Strongtharm into her confidence. She could not help it.

"Granny," she whispered. (They were great friends.) "I am to be married
to-morrow."

"Sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Strongtharm, peering at her, misdoubting that
she jested.

But Ruth's face told its own tale. "May I?" asked the elder woman, and
her arm went about the girl's waist. "God bless ye, dear, and send ye a
long family! Who's the gentleman? Not him as came an' took the rooms
for ye? He said you was a near relation o' his. . . . Well, never mind!
The trick's as old as Abram."

"Be down at the church at nine to-morrow, and you shall see him, whoever
he is. But it is a secret, and you are not to tell Mr. Strongtharm."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Strongtharm. "_Him!_"

"But you ought to make _some_ difference," whispered the good woman next
morning, after breakfast, as she was preparing to slip away to the
village. "Be it but a flower in your bodice. But we've no garden, and
the season's late."

Ruth took her kiss of benediction. She was scarcely listening; but the
words by a strange trick repeated themselves on her brain a few minutes
later, upstairs, as she went about her last preparations.

She leaned out at the lattice over the river. A lusty creeper, rooted
in _terra firma_ at the back of the house, had pushed its embrace over
west side and front. The leaves, green the summer through, were now
turned to a vivid flame-colour. She plucked three or four and pinned
them over her bosom, glanced at the effect in t