look there," she went on, pointing to the place where a ray of
sunlight poured slanting into the room, "and I see my husband in
the heavenly light. He bows his head in grief, and he points his
unerring hand at You. George and Mary, you are consecrated to
each other! Be always worthy of your consecration; be always
worthy of yourselves." She paused. Her voice faltered. She looked
at us with softening eyes, as those look who know sadly that
there is a parting at hand. "Kneel!" she said, in low tones of
awe and grief. "It may be the last time I bless you--it may be
the last time I pray over you, in this house. Kneel!"

We knelt close together at her feet. I could feel Mary's heart
throbbing, as she pressed nearer and nearer to my side. I could
feel my own heart quickening its beat, with a fear that was a
mystery to me.

"God bless and keep George and Mary, here and hereafter! God
prosper, in future days, the union which God's wisdom has willed!
Amen. So be it. Amen."

As the last words fell from her lips the cottage door was thrust
open. My father--followed by the bailiff--entered the room.

Dame Dermody got slowly on her feet, and looked at him with a
stern scrutiny.

"It has come," she said to herself. "It looks with the eyes--it
will speak with the voice--of that man."

My father broke the silence that followed, addressing himself to