Long were the brave and eloquent words spoken by Master Jeremy Taylor at that memorable hour treasured in the hearts of the simple village folk, and long they remembered with tears and sorely aching hearts the holy upturned faces of Primrose and the lily-knight, as they knelt in prayer side by side when the benediction had been pronounced, the light of another world--not long hence to illumine for ever their beautiful features--already shedding its gleams of coming glory upon their pure countenances. Slowly and with reverent step the gallant band had proceeded homewards, and Percival, leaving Primrose in safety within her own walls, had gone forth on his distant errand to a dying person, accompanied some part of the way, greatly to her relief and joy, by his friend Jeremy, who on this day clung to him with a feeling he could not analyse of being strangely loth to let him out of his sight. But Primrose knew that Master Taylor's own duties must call him homeward to Craig Arthur ere late in the day, and as twilight fell, and she began to anticipate her lover's lonely return through the darkness, her anxiety could with difficulty be controlled, and she sat at the casement, watching the raging of the storm with a beating heart, side by side with the old boatman, who, trembling with apprehension for the fate of his bridge, had for hours sat patiently at the little window immediately above it, fearing every moment to see it carried down the stream. At length, in the thickly gathering gloom, both bridge and river became invisible to his failing sight, and Primrose had scarcely persuaded him to exchange his seat for one closer to the crackling logs on the wide hearth, when, looking out herself from a window on the farther side of the room, she saw sudden flames leap up on the hillside, and at the same time wild shouts rent the air, and above the storm voices could be heard below, shrieking; "The church! the church! Where is Master Vere? The church is burning!"