Sir William Winslow filled the tumbler that stood next to him with wine, and drank it off. "The coroner's jury must be a pack of fools," said General Tracy. "Really, juries are becoming worse than a farce: a pest to the country. I have not seen a verdict for twenty years that did not bear the stamp of prejudice, falsehood, or idiotcy upon it. There is a regular hierarchy of fools in England, proceeding from the coroner's jury to the grand jury, assisted by all their officers, from the coroner to the chairman of the magistrates. Rose, my flower, you do not seem well. Take a glass of wine with me." "I do not wonder she turns pale," said Mr. Tracy, "when you call up such a terrible subject again, Walter." "Well, let us try something better," said the General. "How is Fleming going on? Has he got his house in order, yet? all the great rooms papered and painted?" "He has been absent for ten days," said Mr. Tracy, who felt at his heart that his brother had not been more fortunate in his choice of a topic this time than before. "He is not expected back for a month." "I am sorry for that," said General Tracy; "he is the most agreeable parson I ever met with--a gentleman--a man of sense, of feeling, and of talent. Such a man is a great resource in a neighbourhood like this." Rose raised her eyes imploringly to her uncle's face, then turned them towards Emily, and the subject dropped. With such a beginning, how could the evening pass? The next morning, at the hour of nine, Mr. Tracy's carriage conveyed four people, each enduring their own peculiar sort of wretchedness to the parish-church of Northferry. Emily was--or seemed--the least agitated of the whole party. Sir William Winslow was there before them; and, in a few minutes, he and his poor bride stood before the altar. She was deadly pale; but she shook not, she wept not. She made no responses; but the clerk did it for her; for he was so much accustomed to marrying, and giving in marriage, that he could not refrain from playing the part of bride or bridegroom, as the case might be, whenever he saw or thought the parties were incompetent to play it for themselves. At length there came something which roused the unhappy girl from the stupor of her misery. The ring touched her ringer, glided up it, making her his with its cold chilling clasp. It was over--the effort was complete--the struggle finished! the die cast! She was the wife of a man she detested! She felt it but for an instant. The next, she was lying like a corpse at her father's and her husband's feet--pale as monumental marble; and, to all appearance, as cold and lifeless, too.