A deep peace seemed to fall over the whole neighborhood after the death of Jack Price and Bill Plunder. The brigadier flattered himself that he should get promotion for his energy, and Tregenna felt that his task was done, and that the time was convenient for the retirement he had promised the vicar. So fully satisfied were the authorities in London that the mission of soldiers and revenue-men had been thoroughly and effectively accomplished, that the brigade was shortly withdrawn from the neighborhood, and the cutter was sent to another part of the coast. It was not until after his withdrawal from the service, when the snowdrops were peeping above the ground, that Tregenna came down to Hurst, and put up at the best inn, ready for his marriage with Joan on the morrow. It was to have been a very quiet wedding; but Joan had made herself so much beloved in the countryside that, long before the time for the ceremony had arrived, the whole churchyard and the grass round were thick with a dense throng of people. Gardener Tom was there with a huge nosegay of hothouse flowers, speaking loudly his hatred and detestation of the whole sex, with the exception of Miss Joan. Squire Waldron and Bertram were there, in smart hunt colors, waiting to welcome the bride. The ladies from Hurst Court were there, simpering and wondering how the vicar’s daughter could be so selfish as to leave her father! They wouldn’t have done it, not they! Men, women, and children from Hurst and the villages round were there with their snowdrops, to strew on the path before sweet Mistress Joan. All was peace, and brightness, and happiness; and the winter sun came out in her honor as blushing Joan, tall and handsome, in her plain white dress and veil, came from the Parsonage, leaning on her father’s arm. The service was over; the blessing had been spoken on the young people, and Tregenna was leading his bride down the little aisle, when a sound reached the ears of all present which froze the blood of some of them. It was a peal of loud, mocking laughter, in a well-known voice. It came into the church from the wide porch, and echoed through the building. “Ann!” cried Tregenna, under his breath. “No, no, not Ann; but Jem Bax!” cried the well-known voice, in clear and ringing tones. And into the bright light of the doorway strode Ann, in her lad’s dress, with a keg slung in front and one behind, in approved smuggler fashion. “Heaven bless you both, for a pair of innocent lambs,” she cried, raising one hand as if in benediction. “See, Ben, do not they make a monstrous pretty pair? Prettier than you and me, when they made us one!” And the burly form of Ben the Blast, with his kegs slung over his shoulder, came into view behind her.