Was it ominous of evil that the ring dropped from her wedding finger as Sir Paget placed it there?
At last all was over. The great organ pealed forth the wedding-march. The bells rang joyously in the great spire overhead, and she was led forth by Sir Paget, leaning on his arm, a wedded wife.
So time would pass on—days dawn and nights close; the moon would shine amid the fleecy clouds on the quiet pastoral hills, on the great castellated mass of Dundargue, the woods and waters of her old home; but never would she be as she had been—as a happy, thoughtless girl—the Eveline Graham of the past years; never more could joy be hers, or would she know again the love she had lost, the tenderness she had tasted; and times there were when, amid her general passive appearance of numbness and indifference, hot, scorching tears of utter despair escaped her, and a passionate longing seized her to take to flight, whither she knew not, and to rend asunder the meshes of the marriage net that bound her now; and in this frame of mind she departed on her honeymoon!
On that morning, there lingered long on one of the western batteries of the old castle an officer who—if he was noticed at all—seemed to be solely intent on enjoying a cigar, and who seemed to avoid the society of all.
This was poor Evan Cameron, listening to the wedding bells in the distant spire, and well he knew for what a tragedy they were ringing; and, each time their clangour came upon the wind, they seemed to find an echo in his heart.
So she was married at last, and more than ever lost to him!
Cards came to him in due course, and he tore them into minute fragments.
Evan did all his regimental duties and daily work like a man—but as one in a dream—all that was required of him, with more than ever, if possible, strict punctilio; yet he felt himself a mere machine, without heart or soul; and had only one longing, for the time when he might turn his back upon his native country, and find himself face to face with the enemy, no matter who, or where, that enemy might be.