The clock was striking midnight—ill-omened hour for such a rite as that—in the tower of the parish church, as Jasper St. Aubyn sprung to the ground before the old Saxon porch, and lifting his sweet bride from the saddle, fastened the bridles of their horses to the hooks in the churchyard-wall, and entered the low-browed door which gave access to the nave. A single dim light burned on the altar, by which the old vicar, robed in his full canonicals, awaited them, with his knavish assistant, and the two witnesses beside him. Dully and unimpressively, at that unhallowed hour, and by that dim light, the sacred rite was performed, and the dread adjuration answered, and the awful bond undertaken, which, through all changes, and despite all chances of this mortal life makes two into one flesh, until death shall them sever. The gloom, the melancholy, the nocturnal horror of the scene sunk deeply on Theresa’s spirit; and it was in the midst of tears and shuddering that she gave her hand and her heart to one, who, alas! was too little capable of appreciating the invaluable treasure he had that night been blessed withal. And even when the ceremony was performed, and she was his immutably and forever, as they rode home as they had come, alone, through the dim avenues and noble chase, which were now in some sort her own, there was none of that buoyancy, that high, exulting hope, that rapture of permitted love which is wont to thrill the bosoms of young and happy brides. Nor, on the following day, was the melancholy gloom, which, despite all her young husband’s earnest and fond endeavors to cheer and compose her, still overhung her mind, in anywise removed by the tidings which reached the manor late in the afternoon. The aged vicar, so the tale went, had been called by some unusual official duty to the parish church, long after it was dark, and in returning home had fallen among the rocks, having strayed from the path, and injured himself so severely that his life was despaired of. So eagerly did Jasper proffer his services, and with an alacrity so contrary to his usual sluggishness, when his own interests were not at stake, did he order his horse and gallop down to the village to visit his old friend, that his father smiled, well pleased and half laughingly thanked Theresa, when the boy had gone, saying that he really believed her gentle influence was charming some of Jasper’s willfulness away, and that he trusted ere long to see him, through her precept and example, converted into a milder and more humanized mood and temper. Something swelled in the girl’s bosom, and rose to her throat, half choking her—the _hysterica passio_ of poor Lear—as the good old man spoke, and the big tears gushed from her eyes. It was by the mightiest effort only that she kept down the almost overmastering impulse which prompted her to cast herself down at the old man’s feet, and confess to him what she had done, and so implore his pardon and his blessing.