McCray was right, for, arm in arm--Captain Norton, upright of bearing, Sir Murray Gernon bent and feeble, walking with the shuffling step induced by his last seizure--they were bound on the frequent pilgrimage they made, a visit never paid by either alone--a pilgrimage to a shrine most holy in their eyes--for it was to the grave of the woman they had both loved. The stormy epoch was past; and a gentle time of calm had come. Brace Norton had just returned from a two years' cruise, an impatient time, but one which he had passed in peace, for at every station he knew that long and loving letters awaited him. But now he was returned, and but few days more were to elapse before words were to be pronounced that should make two hearts one. But Merland village was greatly dissatisfied; the couple, they said, were capitally matched, and young Lieutenant Norton would be 'most as wealthy as Sir Murray himself; but it did seem hard on the poor lord, who was said to be picking up a living anyhow at the foreign gaming-tables. Then, too, there were no grand preparations, and the wedding was to be quiet as quiet, and no open house at the Castle; and the general opinion seemed to be that times were not as they used to be--a declaration to which old Chunt cordially assented. Still, people were more lenient, and many a blessing was showered on the blushing girl, who was led--nay, who led herself, feeble, broken Sir Murray Gernon--into the church, while, when the service was over, a deep hush fell upon all, and people held back with reverence; hats were doffed, and words were spoken in whispers, for when, leaning upon her husband's arm, Isa Norton came slowly through the porch, it was seen that she bore a wreath of tiny flowers, and, to the surprise of all, she stopped. There was no fierce hand, though, to pluck them from her; and people whispered more and more as they saw the tears standing brightly in her eyes--tears of sorrow and happiness--thankfulness, too, for the bliss that was theirs. The bells would have struck up, but whispered words stayed the ringers; children would have flung flowers in the bride's path, but, for a few moments, their little hands were arrested; for, leaning upon Captain Norton's arm, both suffering strongly from the emotion evoked from the past, Sir Murray Gernon now appeared, to stand by his daughter's side; and the halt was by Lady Gernon's resting-place, the family vault of the old family--the spot where, years before, broken-hearted, mad almost, Philip Norton stood waiting the coming of the bridal party.