The bride had walked to the Abbey church one fair May morning in her ordinary dress, accompanied by her faithful friend Miss Herschel, and the Miss Hoblyns, and Norah. There were present with the bridegroom his mother and Brian Bellis. Thus so small a wedding-party was not likely to attract attention. A great change had passed over both bride and bridegroom since that January day when they had sealed their betrothal in the old Abbey church. The brilliant beauty of Griselda had faded, and there were traces of long illness on her sweet face. Leslie Travers's lithe figure was bent, and he walked slowly and with none of the elasticity of youth. He had been given back to his mother's prayers, contrary to the hopes or expectations of the surgeons, who had watched over him with unremitting care; but the duel had left an indelible mark on him. The chariot to take the bride and bridegroom was waiting at the door, and here the "Good-byes" were said. Mrs. Travers felt Griselda's clinging arms round her as she whispered: "I will try to be a good daughter to you, madam. I pray you love me a little, for his sake!" "I love you for your own, my child," was the reply; "and I will cherish and comfort this little one till we meet again"--for poor Norah was convulsed with weeping, and only the promise of a home at the Grange with her sister could console her. And so the curtain falls, and the bridegroom and the bride pass out of our sight; but we must take one farewell look at them when years have gone by, and see how the promise of their early love had been fulfilled. CHAPTER XIX. TEN YEARS LATER--1790. There is no country, however flat and uninteresting, which does not respond to the glory of a real English summer's day. The moated Grange, near Louth, was no exception to the rule. The moat itself had been drained, and was now covered with turf, and studded with countless daisies, with their golden eyes looking up into the blue, clear sky. Even the old-fashioned, low-roofed house, with its many gables and the heron carved in stone over the porch, was laughing in the sunshine; and on the well-kept lawn was a group, on which the eye of an artist might have loved to linger. A sweet and gracious mother was seated on a low garden bench with a baby on her knee, while on either side stood two children--twin boys--who were the joy and pride of her heart. The little sister of ten months old had come to put the last jewel in the crown of Griselda Travers's happy wifehood and motherhood. The place where she sat was under the shadow of a row of tall whispering poplars, which made the pleasant "sound as of falling showers," as the summer breeze stirred the leaves. At the back of the house was a plantation of fir-trees, where the turtle-doves were cooing, and the murmur as of "far seas" in the dark topmost branches made a low undertone of melody.