Her manner had caught him unawares; but now recovering himself he turned

back determinedly. Bursting out upon the roof he clasped her in his

arms, and kissed her several times.

'Viviette, Viviette,' he said, 'I have come to marry you!' She uttered a shriek--a shriek of amazed joy--such as never was heard on that tower before or since--and fell in his arms, clasping his neck.

There she lay heavily. Not to disturb her he sat down in her seat, still

holding her fast. Their little son, who had stood with round conjectural

eyes throughout the meeting, now came close; and presently looking up to

Swithin said-'Mother has gone to sleep.' Swithin looked down, and started. Her tight clasp had loosened. A wave of whiteness, like that of marble which had never seen the sun, crept up

from her neck, and travelled upwards and onwards over her cheek, lips,

eyelids, forehead, temples, its margin banishing back the live pink till

the latter had entirely disappeared.

Seeing that something was wrong, yet not understanding what, the little

boy began to cry; but in his concentration Swithin hardly heard it.

'Viviette--Viviette!' he said.

The child cried with still deeper grief, and, after a momentary

hesitation, pushed his hand into Swithin's for protection.

'Hush, hush! my child,' said Swithin distractedly. 'I'll take care of

you! O Viviette!' he exclaimed again, pressing her face to his.

But she did not reply.

'What can this be?' he asked himself. He would not then answer according

to his fear.

He looked up for help. Nobody appeared in sight but Tabitha Lark, who

was skirting the field with a bounding tread--the single bright spot of

colour and animation within the wide horizon. When he looked down again

his fear deepened to certainty. It was no longer a mere surmise that

help was vain. Sudden joy after despair had touched an over-strained

heart too smartly. Viviette was dead. The Bishop was avenged.



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