***




Produced by Al Haines.





                             *JOHN HERRING*

                      _A WEST OF ENGLAND ROMANCE_


                         BY SABINE BARING-GOULD

                          AUTHOR OF 'MEHALAH'



                            IN THREE VOLUMES



                               VOL. III.



                                 LONDON
                 SMITH, ELDER, & CO, 15 WATERLOO PLACE
                                  1883

                         [All rights reserved]




                               *CONTENTS*

                                   OF

                            THE THIRD VOLUME

CHAPTER

    XLI. White Favours
   XLII. The Snow Bride
  XLIII. Hunting the Devil
   XLIV. Willapark
    XLV. 'Kinkum-kum'
   XLVI. A Bar of Ice
  XLVII. Welcome Home!
 XLVIII. Two Bequests
   XLIX. Cast Up
      L. Two Disobediences
     LI. Two Exits
    LII. The Return of the Wanderer
   LIII. A Private Interview
    LIV. The Porch Room
     LV. Nemesis
    LVI. A Dead Man
   LVII. An Arrest
  LVIII. R.I.P.
    LIX. Dividing the Spoils
     LX. Introductory




                            *JOHN HERRING.*



                             *CHAPTER XLI.*

                            *WHITE FAVOURS.*


The weather had changed abruptly.  The wind had turned north-east, had
become rough and frozen, and whirled snow before it over a white world.

Eight days had elapsed, and the marriage ceremony had been performed in
the chapel of Trecarrel.  The Captain was not present at the ceremony:
he was in bed, indisposed.

The carriage was at the door of Dolbeare to convey the bride and
bridegroom to Welltown.  A hasty breakfast had been taken.  No friends
had been invited.  The journey was long, and the horses must be rested
midway for an hour.  The days were short, and there was no chance of
reaching Welltown before dark.  It was bad travelling over fresh snow,
and along an exposed road swept by the furious gale.  The horses stamped
and pawed the snow, the post-boys were impatient. Herring was anxious to
start.  Mirelle was upstairs in her room alone.  All the boxes were
corded and in place.  Then Orange, who was in the hall, called her
cousin.

Mirelle appeared, slowly and uncertainly descending the stairs.  Orange
uttered an exclamation of surprise.  'My dear, you are still in white!
You have not put on your travelling dress.'

'I did not know.'

'But what in the world have you been doing?'

She had been weeping and praying.  Her eyes were red and full of tears,
and there was that exalted, luminous look in the white face of one whose
soul has just descended from heaven, as there was in the face of Moses
when he came down from the Mount.  In her white dress, with her white
veil over her dark hair, and a bunch of snowdrops in her bosom, just as
she had stood at the altar, so she was going forth into the stormy
world--as white as one of the snow-flakes, as fragile, altogether as
pure.

Her travelling dress was in the box, and the box was on the carriage.
There was no help for it; the box could not be taken down and unpacked.
She must go as she was, wrapped round with many cloaks.

She was reluctant to depart.  She had not spent happy days in Dolbeare;
but, nevertheless, she did not like to leave it for the unknown.  The
future was strange and feared.  Orange and her mother had not been
congenial friends, but they were of her own sex.  What would become of
the Trampleasures now?  They were without money. She turned to her
husband.

'Mr. Herring,' she said timidly,'my mother and my sister, what of
them?'

'Dearest Mirelle, that is as you like.'

'Oh, Orange! and you, Mrs. Trampleasure! Will you come and live with me
where I am going?  I entreat you to do so.  Make my home your own.  I do
not think you will be happy here, where you have met with so many
sorrows.  And I--I shall miss you.'

She looked at Herring, asking with her eyes if she had done right.

This was not what he wished.  Orange was not the sort of companion he
relished for his wife.  There was an indescribable something about her
which he disliked.  Then an idea struck him.  He called Orange and