t, and would have read it again, but she did not take away
either her Bible or prayer book when she fled from her home, and did not
like to ask Howel to buy her one. Now, as the clergyman continues his
exhortation, the words sound to her as some solemn and wonderful address
spoken for her alone. She listens in spite of a multitude of feelings
that are struggling within her, and is struck with fear when she is
adjured to confess, if there is any impediment to her being lawfully
wedded. She knows that her father's anger and her mother's sorrow are
broad impediments in her road to happiness.

Her hand trembles, as he who holds the office that offended father ought
to hold, takes it and places it in that of the clergyman It trembles
still more as she hears the question put to her concerning her future
conduct to him, so soon to be her husband, and to think she must audibly
respond. Howel has already answered firmly and boldly, and she strives
to say the final, 'I will,' firmly too, but her voice falters; she is
too much absorbed in her own emotions to notice how carelessly and
thoughtlessly Howel repeats his solemn promise to her after the
clergyman, but she feels him press her hand and is reassured.
Tremblingly, but in all earnestness of purpose, she makes her vow to
'love, cherish, and obey' him whom she has resolutely chosen for her
husband; and, as if touched by her manner, and by the searching glance
of the clergyman, Howel becomes more serious as he places the ring on
her finger and repeats the last words in those great and awful names,
which it is sin to utter but with humility and prayer.

Truly, as they kneel before the altar to receive the final blessing of
the clergyman, they are a sight for much joy or much grief. Who shall
say what the end will be? Two human beings joined in one to all
eternity!

As that prayer and blessing are being spoken, a bright flash of
lightning darts through the church, followed by a heavy peal of thunder;
suddenly a great gloom fills the sacred edifice, and a storm of hail and
rain dashes against the windows.

Poor Netta is superstitious and as easily frightened as a child; she
starts and gives an involuntary little cry as the lightning flashes
before her eyes, and the thunder seems to shake her as she kneels. She
turns paler and paler as the storm continues, and can scarcely hear the
concluding psalms, prayers, and exhortation, for her fear of the
lightning which fitfully and at i