"My dear Frank, nothing in the world would stop me; if anything were done to prevent my marriage now, I would simply await another and more favorable opportunity; my mind is made up. I love the girl with all my heart, and she, no other, shall be my wife. If you refuse to act for me, well and good; I shall find some one else." "If you would but be reasonable, Lance," said his friend. "I am not reasonable. When did you ever see reason and love go hand in hand together?" "They should do so always, and do, when the love is worth having." "Now, Frank, I have listened patiently; I have heard all that you have had to say; I have weighed every argument, and I remain unconvinced. You have but to say whether you will do this to oblige me or not." "If I do it, remember, it is under protest, Lance." "Never mind what it is under, if you only promise." "I promise, to save you from greater risk, but I do it against my will, my reason, my good sense, my conscience, and everything else." Lord Chandos laughed aloud. "You will forget everything of that kind," he said, "when you see Leone." And the two friends parted, mutually dissatisfied. CHAPTER VIII. THE PROPHECY. "A very impatient young man," said the good old vicar. "No man in his senses would want to be married before ten in the morning. I call it unchristian." Good old Mr. Barnes had been roused from his early slumbers by the announcement that the young man had come to be married. Married, while the early morning sun was shining, and the birds singing their morning hymn. He was almost blind, this good old vicar, who had lived so long at Oheton. He was very deaf, and could hardly hear, but then he did not require very keen sight or hearing at Oheton; there was never more than one marriage in a year, and funerals were very rare; but to be called before nine in the morning to perform the marriage ceremony was something unheard of. He had duly announced the bans, and no one had taken the least notice of them; but to come so early, it was positively cruel. Others had risen early that morning. Leone had not slept well, for this July morning, which was to bring such mingled joy and sorrow to others, was a day of deepest emotion to her. Her love-dream was to be realized. She was to marry the ardent young lover who swore that he would not live without her. She had thought more of her love than of the worldly advantages it would bring her. She had not thought much of those until they stood, on the evening before their wedding-day, once more by the mill-stream. It was bright moonlight, for the smiling summer day was dead. It was their farewell to the beautiful spot they both loved. "I am so glad," said Lord Chandos, "that we can say good-bye to it by the light of the moon. I wonder, Leone, when we shall see the mill-stream again? I have a fancy that the pretty water has helped me in my wooing."