The church was cold and dark. The grey figures on the font seemed ashen as if with the biting morning air, and the marble figures on the walls looked like gigantic icicles. It certainly was not a nice morning to be married on, and, Mr. Carnanton thought, not a nice morning to perform the ceremony. The bridal party, in due time, took their allotted places at the altar rails, and the service began. Mr. Carnanton found that the voice of the storm was louder than his, enfeebled as it was with age, for ever and anon it beat against the windows, and rushed round the buttresses with a roar which drowned every other sound. The momentous question was put to Mark, "Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?" and he answered joyfully, "I will," and the vicar turned to the trembling bride, "Jenifer, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?" A blast, longer and louder than any which had preceded, shook the building as the vicar's voice died away, and before Jenifer could utter the irrevocable "I will," the great southern door flew open with a terrific bang, and there rushed in a tall form, in sailor's garb, but bareheaded and coatless, his dank hair and wet garments testifying to a recent struggle with the waves. All present looked with astonishment on the intruder, who advanced with rapid steps up the nave towards the bridal party. The clerk was struck with horror at the irregularity of the proceeding, and made a movement to stay the strange-looking addition to the congregation, but was summarily thrust aside. "Who are you, and what do you want ?" asked Mr. Carnanton, recovering from his astonishment. The man returned no answer, but fixed his eyes upon the bride. She trembled under his gaze, and tried two or three times to speak, but her tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth. At last she gasped out, "Arthur!" and then, with a piercing shriek, fell prone upon the chancel floor. 255 CHAPTER XX. THE TEMPEST. I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs; he trod the water, The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept and oar'd Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke To the shore. The Tempest. THE boom which Mr. Carnanton heard as he left his house proceeded from the French brigantine Marie, bound from the Cape to Swansea. She had reached into the bay with an east wind, which suddenly veered round to the north and then to the northwest, leaving her to fight the storm on a lee shore. She was a gallant little vessel, and there seemed every prospect of her weathering the projecting point of the bay and reaching St. Enodoc harbour when, in a fearful lurch, her foremast went by the board, to be followed in a few minutes by the mainmast, leaving her a helpless prey to the angry waves. Signals of distress were fired, and the anchors were let go on the chance of their holding. For two or three minutes they held on while the waves swept her from stem to stern, and then, spite of the length and strength of the cables, a mighty billow lifted her up, and dashed her towards the shore, snapping the iron links as if they were tow. Looking through the dimness of the morning light they perceived that a group of men, aroused by their firing, had congregated on the beach, and were waiting to render what assistance they could. With |