“My mother would like to have presented the gift in person,” he explained, “but when I told her of Stella’s extreme delicacy and nervous depression, she agreed that it would be better not to see her until the wedding-day. She pleaded so hard, however, to be allowed to come to the wedding that I could not refuse her. Of course she perfectly understands how essentially quiet the affair will be, so soon after Lady Cranstoun’s death. I suppose you have made every arrangement for the service to be read in the chapel here?” “Certainly. It is a little in disrepair and I have workmen employed at this moment in putting it right,” answered Sir Philip. “Only my father-in-law, the Duke of Lanark, will be present besides myself. He has not seen Stella for some time, but she was always his favorite grandchild, and he much desires to be present. Stella is fond of him and glad to have him.” With much relief Sir Philip saw his future son-in-law depart for town that same evening. He had been dreading lest Stella should unexpectedly awaken and spoil all. Everything was going on as well as could be expected. According to Dakin and Ellen, Stella, although she took no active interest in her trousseau, consented to stand passive while hats and gowns were tried upon her, and made no remark even when she was “fitted” for her wedding-dress. The servants thought that she must be getting reconciled to the idea of the marriage; but as she never spoke, it was difficult for them to pronounce on the subject with certainty. This neutral attitude was at least better than active opposition, and Sir Philip’s heart was elated by hope that nothing would occur to mar the ceremony. It was the more irritating to him, therefore, when on the night before the wedding eve a strange and ominous dream troubled his repose. He thought that he was standing within some vast cathedral, in which, amid much pomp and magnificence, to the strains of a superb organ, and before the eyes of the highest in the land, the nuptials of his daughter and Lord Carthew were being celebrated. He thought he was giving his daughter away, was standing close by her side and placing her hand within that of her bridegroom, when a cold film seemed to hang across him, and he perceived the spirit of his dead wife Clare, with one hand uplifted in warning, and the other stretched protectingly around her daughter, who seemed unconscious of her presence. Suddenly the light in the church flickered and paled; people looked at each other, whispering and alarmed. Bride and bridegroom sprang apart, affrighted, and instead of the rich notes of the organ came the shrill, eldritch laughter of the hag Sarah Carewe, as she croaked again in his ears the curse which she had uttered on the day when James Carewe was sentenced for defending his father.