another time he ploughed his way through beds of spear-grass, where at a
few feet to the right or left he might have been sucked down into a
morass. At last he reached firm land on the other side of this watery
tract, and came to his house on the rise behind--Elsenford--an ordinary
farmstead, from the back of which rose indistinct breathings, belchings,
and snortings, the rattle of halters, and other familiar features of an
agriculturist's home.

While Nicholas Long was packing his bag in an upper room of this
dwelling, Miss Christine Everard sat at a desk in her own chamber at
Froom-Everard manor-house, looking with pale fixed countenance at the
candles.

'I ought--I must now!' she whispered to herself. 'I should not have
begun it if I had not meant to carry it through! It runs in the blood of
us, I suppose.' She alluded to a fact unknown to her lover, the
clandestine marriage of an aunt under circumstances somewhat similar to
the present. In a few minutes she had penned the following note:-

October 13, 183-.

DEAR MR. BEALAND--Can you make it convenient to yourself to meet me at
the Church to-morrow morning at eight? I name the early hour because
it would suit me better than later on in the day. You will find me in
the chancel, if you can come. An answer yes or no by the bearer of
this will be sufficient.

CHRISTINE EVERARD.

She sent the note to the rector immediately, waiting at a small side-door