death. In the eyes of one of the party, perhaps it was; and
neither halted till they came once more in sight of the house,
whence a short time previously they had carried the death-cold
bride. A row of lamps over the door-portals shed a yellow,
uncertain light around, while the lights of barges and wherries
were sown like stars along the river.

"There is the house," cried Ormiston, and both paused to take
breath; "and I am about at the last gasp. I wonder if your
pretty mistress would feel grateful if she knew what I have come
through to-night for her sweet sake?"

"There are no lights," mad Sir Norman, glancing anxiously up at
the darkened front of the house; "even the link before the door
is unlit. Surely she cannot be there."

"That remains to be seen, though I'm very doubtful about it
myself. Ah I who have we here?"

The door of the house in question opened, as he spoke, and a
figure - a man's figure, wearing a slouched hat and long, dark
cloak, came slowly out. He stopped before the house and looked
at it long and earnestly; and, by the twinkling light of the
lamps, the friends saw enough of him to know he was young and
distinguished looking.

"I should not wonder in the least it that were the bridegroom,"
whispered Ormiston, maliciously.

Sir Norman turned pale with jealousy, and laid his hand on his