Mr. Carlyle was already in his place at the altar, and as Barbara neared him, he advanced, took her hand, and placed her on his left.  I don’t think that it was quite usual; but he had been married before, and ought to know.  The clerk directed the rest where to stand, and, after some little delay, the service proceeded.

In spite of her emotion—­and that it was great, scarcely to be suppressed, none could doubt—­Barbara made the responses bravely.  Be you very sure that a woman who loves him she is being united to, must experience this emotion.

“Wilt though have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony?” spoke the Rev. Mr. Little.  “Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

“I will.”

Clearly, firmly, impressively was the answer given.  It was as if Barbara had in her thoughts one who had not “kept holy unto him,” and would proclaim her own resolution never so to betray him, God helping her.

The ceremony was very soon over, and Barbara, the magic ring upon her finger and her arm within Mr. Carlyle’s was led out to his chariot, now hers—­had he not just endowed her with his worldly goods?

The crowd shouted and hurrahed as they caught sight of her blushing face, but the carriage was soon clear of the crowd, who concentrated their curiosity upon the other carriages that were to follow it.  The company were speeding back to the Grove to breakfast.  Mr. Carlyle, breaking the silence, suddenly turned to his bride and spoke, his tone impassioned, almost unto pain.

“Barbara, you will keep your vows to me?”

She raised her shy blue eyes, so full of love to his; earnest feeling had brought the tears to them.

“Always, in the spirit and in the letter, until death shall claim me.  So help me Heaven!”

The German watering-places were crowded that early autumn.  They generally are crowded at that season, now that the English flock abroad in shoals, like the swallows quitting our cold country, to return again some time.  France has been pretty well used up, so now we fall upon Germany.  Stalkenberg was that year particularly full, for its size—­you might have put it in a nutshell; and it derived its importance, name, and most else belonging to it, from its lord of the soil, the Baron von Stalkenberg.  A stalwart old man was the baron, with grizzly hair, a grizzled beard, and manners as loutish as those of the boars he hunted.  He had four sons as stalwart as himself, and who promised to be in time as grizzled.  They were all styled the Counts von Stalkenberg, being distinguished by their Christian names—­all save the eldest son, and he was generally called the young baron.  Two of them were away—­soldiers; and two, the eldest and the youngest, lived with their father in the tumble-down castle of Stalkenberg, situated about a mile from the village to which it gave its name.  The young Baron von Stalkenberg was at liberty to marry; the three Counts von Stalkenberg were not—­unless they could pick up a wife with enough money to keep herself and her husband.  In this creed they had been brought up.  It was a perfectly understood creed, and not rebelled against.