s or rubies.

Mrs. Frostham came a little later, and assisted her in her toilet; but
a passing thought of the four bridemaids she had once chosen for this
office made her eyes dim, while the stillness of the house, the utter
neglect of all symbols of rejoicing, gave an ominous and sorrowful
atmosphere to the bride-robing. Still, Aspatria looked very handsome;
for as the melancholy toilet offices proceeded with so little interest
and so little sympathy, a sense of resentment had gradually gathered
in the poor girl's heart. It made her carry herself proudly, it
brought a flush to her cheeks, and a flashing, trembling light to her
eyes which Mrs. Frostham could not comfortably meet.

A few minutes before ten, she threw over all her fateful finery a
large white cloak, which added a decided grace and dignity to her
appearance. It was a garment Ulfar had sent her from London,--a long,
mantle-like wrap, made of white cashmere, and lined with quilted
white satin. Long cords and tassels of chenille fastened it at the
throat, and the hood was trimmed with soft white fur. She drew the
hood over her head, she felt glad to hide the wreath of orange-buds
and roses which Mrs. Frostham had insisted upon her wearing,--the sign
and symbol of her maidenhood.

Will looked at her with stern lips, but as he wrapped up her
satin-sandalled feet in the carriage, he said softly to her, "God
bless you, Aspatria!" His voice trembled, but not more than Aspatria's
as she answered,--

"Thank you, Will. You and Brune are father and mother to me to-day.
There is no one else."

"Never mind, my little lass. We are enough."

She was alone in the carriage. Will and Brune rode on either side of
her. The Frosthams, the Dawsons, the Bellendens, the Atkinsons, and
the Lutons followed. Will had invited every one to the church, and
curiosity brought those who were not moved by sympathy or regard.
Fortunately the rain held off, though the air was damp and exceedingly
depressing.

When they arrived at Aspatria Church, they found the yard full; every
gravestone was occupied by a little party of gossips. At the gate
there was a handsome travelling-chariot with four horses. It lifted a
great weight of apprehension from William Anneys, for it told him that
Fenwick had kept his word. He helped Aspatria to alight, and his heart
ached for her. How would she be able to walk between that crowd of
gazing, curious men and women? He held her arm tight against his big