CHAPTER XVI.
THE CHURCH.
The altar, 'tis of death! for there are laid
The sacrifice of all youth's sweetest hopes.
It is a dreadful thing for woman's lip
To swear the heart away; yet know that heart
Annuls the vow while speaking, and shrinks back
From the dark future that it dares not face.
The service read above the open grave
Is far less terrible than that which seals
The vow that binds the victim, not the will;
For in the grave is rest.
Soon—how soon it appeared to come!—the day appointed for Miss Churchill's marriage arrived. With a faint shudder, she looked from her window. The whole garden was bathed in sunshine; a light wind stirred the branches, which seemed filled with singing birds: she turned away; the light and the music were painful to her. Who has not felt this exaggeration of the sick heart, which
