After this, it was easily arranged, with all parties, that Greyson (such was our hopeful churchman's name) should perform the ceremony. It was to take place among the roofless ruins of S-- B-- Abbey, poor David having a prejudice in favour of his child being married in church, and the repaired part of the building, which is the present church, being of course locked. The little party, in contempt of canonical hours, left David's house after midnight. They passed down the street, and all was silent. As they approached the little bridge, situated half-way between the village and the abbey, Betsy saw a man leaning over the battlements, seemingly looking on the water as it glided from beneath the one low arch. She was sure, doubtful as was the light, for the moon was much obscured, that the figure was that of the young farmer. When they came to the gate which divides the road and school-house from the wide-spread ruins, they found it fastened, and were obliged to get over the stile. When elevated on the upper step of this, Betsy gave one look towards the bridge. The figure had left its position there. She passed her eye along the road, and could still discern it following at some distance. "Make haste!" whispered Henry, hurrying her down the steps rather roughly. "You're not going to change your mind again, are you?" he added, sneeringly. Betsy's heart misgave her, and she answered, with a heavy sigh, "If I have changed it ance, Henry, it's no you 'at sould reproach me!" "Hoot! if it is such a sighing matter," he replied, "don't break your heart to oblige me." "Tack care yee dinna brack it, Henry, nor my honest fayther's nowther," was Betsy's answer. Then, mentally she added, "There's ane 'at must be bracken, and that's enew."