His face was aglow.
“We have seen no more of Waghorn,” he said, blithely, breathing the delicious morning air with rapture after his long imprisonment. “But the owl hath hooted most dolefully. I have not slept a wink.”
Then catching sight of the Vicar in his college cap and black doublet and hose leading Hilary in the grey and pink gown he had specially begged her to wear, he hastened forward to greet them, and together they walked to the south porch, where, according to the old custom, the actual marriage was to take place.
Suddenly an ominous sound—the tramp of many feet close by made them pause and listen anxiously.
“Oh, sir, what is it?” cried Durdle, in great terror.
“Be still; let us hearken,” said Dr. Coke, holding up his hand.
Hilary, with widening eyes, clung to Gabriel.
“Don’t be afraid, dearest,” he said, reassuringly; “soldiers often pass through the village. They are not like to molest us here.”
The Vicar went forward a few paces, and, catching sight of the uniform worn by the men of the Canon Frome garrison, realised the peril they were in.
“Shelter in the church!” he cried. “’Tis you they seek.”