But before she could reach her sister's side, she was intercepted by Mrs. Asshlin, who stepped forward, half tearful, half exultant, and embraced her effusively. "My dear child!--my dear, dear child!" she murmured disjointedly. "May your future be very happy!" Clodagh submitted silently to the embrace; then, as her aunt reluctantly withdrew into the background, she became conscious of the old rector's kindly presence. Looking closely into her face, he took her hand in both his own. "God bless you, my child!" he said simply. "I did not preach you a sermon just now, because I do not think you require one. You are a dutiful child; and I believe that you have found a very worthy husband." At the word husband, Clodagh looked up quickly; then her eyes dropped to her wedding ring. "Thank you!" she said almost inaudibly. And an instant later Milbanke stepped forward deferentially and offered her his arm. In silence they passed down the aisle of the church, in the centre of which stood the old stone font at which Clodagh had been christened, and on which she had been wont to fix her eyes during the Sunday service while the rector preached. All at once this inanimate friendly object seemed to take a new and unfamiliar air--seemed to whisper that Clodagh Asshlin existed no more, and that the stranger who filled her place was an alien. Her fingers tightened nervously on her husband's arm and her steps involuntarily quickened. Outside, in the calm, grey, misty atmosphere, they lingered for a moment by the church door, in order to give Nance and Mrs. Asshlin the opportunity of gaining the cottage before them; but both were ill at ease, self-conscious, and acutely anxious to curtail the enforced solitude. And it was with a sigh of relief, that Clodagh saw Milbanke draw out his watch as an indication that they might start. About the gate, the little group of curious idlers had been augmented. And as Clodagh stepped to the carriage an irrepressible murmur of admiration passed from lip to lip, succeeded by a cold and critical silence as the bridegroom--well bred, well dressed, but obviously and incongruously old--followed in her wake. Clodagh comprehended and construed this chilling silence by the light of her own warm appreciation of things young, strong, and beautiful. And as she stepped hastily into the waiting carriage a flush of something like shame rose hotly to her face.