Produced by Al Haines. *JOHN HERRING* _A WEST OF ENGLAND ROMANCE_ BY SABINE BARING-GOULD AUTHOR OF ’MEHALAH’ IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. III. LONDON SMITH, ELDER, & CO, 15 WATERLOO PLACE 1883 [All rights reserved] *CONTENTS* OF THE THIRD VOLUME CHAPTER XLI. White Favours XLII. The Snow Bride XLIII. Hunting the Devil XLIV. Willapark XLV. ’Kinkum-kum’ XLVI. A Bar of Ice XLVII. Welcome Home! XLVIII. Two Bequests XLIX. Cast Up L. Two Disobediences LI. Two Exits LII. The Return of the Wanderer LIII. A Private Interview LIV. The Porch Room LV. Nemesis LVI. A Dead Man LVII. An Arrest LVIII. R.I.P. LIX. Dividing the Spoils LX. Introductory *JOHN HERRING.* *CHAPTER XLI.* *WHITE FAVOURS.* The weather had changed abruptly. The wind had turned north-east, had become rough and frozen, and whirled snow before it over a white world. Eight days had elapsed, and the marriage ceremony had been performed in the chapel of Trecarrel. The Captain was not present at the ceremony: he was in bed, indisposed. The carriage was at the door of Dolbeare to convey the bride and bridegroom to Welltown. A hasty breakfast had been taken. No friends had been invited. The journey was long, and the horses must be rested midway for an hour. The days were short, and there was no chance of reaching Welltown before dark. It was bad travelling over fresh snow, and along an exposed road swept by the furious gale. The horses stamped and pawed the snow, the post-boys were impatient. Herring was anxious to start. Mirelle was upstairs in her room alone. All the boxes were corded and in place. Then Orange, who was in the hall, called her cousin. Mirelle appeared, slowly and uncertainly descending the stairs. Orange uttered an exclamation of surprise. ’My dear, you are still in white! You have not put on your travelling dress.’ ’I did not know.’ ’But what in the world have you been doing?’ She had been weeping and praying. Her eyes were red and full of tears, and there was that exalted, luminous look in the white face of one whose soul has just descended from heaven, as there was in the face of Moses when he came down from the Mount. In her white dress, with her white veil over her dark hair, and a bunch of snowdrops in her bosom, just as she had stood at the altar, so she was going forth into the stormy world—as white as one of the snow-flakes, as fragile, altogether as pure.