The one
person present who remained outwardly undisturbed was Magdalen
herself. She stood, with tearless resignation, in her place before the
altar--stood, as if all the sources of human emotion were frozen up
within her.
The clergyman opened the Book.
* * * * *
It was done. The awful words which speak from earth to Heaven were
pronounced. The children of the two dead brothers--inheritors of the
implacable enmity which had parted their parents--were Man and Wife.
From that moment events hurried with a headlong rapidity to the parting
scene. They were back at the house while the words of the Marriage
Service seemed still ringing in their ears. Before they had been five
minutes indoors the carriage drew up at the garden gate. In a minute
more the opportunity came for which Magdalen and the captain had been on
the watch--the opportunity of speaking together in private for the last
time. She still preserved her icy resignation; she seemed beyond all
reach now of the fear that had once mastered her, of the remorse that
had once tortured her soul. With a firm hand she gave him the promised
money. With a firm face she looked her last at him. "I'm not to blame,"
he whispered, eagerly; "I have only done what you asked me.
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