The Cathedral was filling with shadows, and cold breathings came round the piers, for it was November, when night very soon succeeds noon in spots where noon is sobered to the pallor of eve. But the service was not yet over, and before quite leaving the building Ethelberta cast one other glance towards the organ and thought of him behind it. At this moment her attention was arrested by the form of her sister Picotee, who came in at the north door, closed the lobby-wicket softly, and went lightly forward to the choir. When within a few yards of it she paused by a pillar, and lingered there looking up at the organ as Ethelberta had done. No sound was coming from the ponderous mass of tubes just then; but in a short space a whole crowd of tones spread from the instrument to accompany the words of a response. Picotee started at the burst of music as if taken in a dishonest action, and moved on in a manner intended to efface the lover's loiter of the preceding moments from her own consciousness no less than from other people's eyes. 'Do you see that?' said Ethelberta. 'That little figure is my dearest sister. Could you but ensure a marriage between her and him she listens to, I would do anything you wish!' 'That is indeed a gracious promise,' said Lord Mountclere. 'And would you agree to what I asked just now?' 'Yes.' 'When?' A gleeful spark accompanied this. 'As you requested.' 'This week? The day after to-morrow?' 'If you will. But remember what lies on your side of the contract. I fancy I have given you a task beyond your powers.' 'Well, darling, we are at one at last,' said Lord Mountclere, rubbing his hand against his side. 'And if my task is heavy and I cannot guarantee the result, I can make it very probable. Marry me on Friday--the day after to-morrow--and I will do all that money and influence can effect to bring about their union.' 'You solemnly promise? You will never cease to give me all the aid in your power until the thing is done?' 'I do solemnly promise--on the conditions named.' 'Very good. You will have ensured my fulfilment of my promise before I can ensure yours; but I take your word.' 'You will marry me on Friday! Give me your hand upon it.' She gave him her hand. 'Is it a covenant?' he asked. 'It is,' said she. Lord Mountclere warmed from surface to centre as if he had drunk of hippocras, and, after holding her hand for some moments, raised it gently to his lips. 'Two days and you are mine,' he said. 'That I believe I never shall be.' 'Never shall be? Why, darling?' 'I don't know. Some catastrophe will prevent it. I shall be dead perhaps.' 'You distress me. Ah,--you meant me--you meant that I should be dead, because you think I am old! But that is a mistake--I am not very old!' 'I thought only of myself--nothing of you.' 'Yes, I know. Dearest, it is dismal and chilling here--let us go.'