It was very necessary to start early. Long before the great eye of the
sun was lifted high enough to glance into the Welland valley, St.

Cleeve arose from his bed in the cabin and prepared to depart, cooking his
breakfast upon a little stove in the corner. The young rabbits, littered
during the foregoing summer, watched his preparations through the open
door from the grey dawn without, as he bustled, half dressed, in and out
under the boughs, and among the blackberries and brambles that grew
around.

It was a strange place for a bridegroom to perform his toilet in, but,
considering the unconventional nature of the marriage, a not
inappropriate one. What events had been enacted in that earthen camp
since it was first thrown up, nobody could say; but the primitive
simplicity of the young man's preparations accorded well with the
prehistoric spot on which they were made. Embedded under his feet were
possibly even now rude trinkets that had been worn at bridal ceremonies
of the early inhabitants. Little signified those ceremonies to-day, or
the happiness or otherwise of the contracting parties. That his own
rite, nevertheless, signified much, was the inconsequent reasoning of
Swithin, as it is of many another bridegroom besides; and he, like the
rest, went on with his preparations in that mood which sees in his stale
repetition the wondrous possibilities of an untried move.

Then through the wet cobwebs, that hung like movable diaphragms on each
blade and bough, he pushed his way down to the furrow which led from the
secluded fir-tree island to the wide world beyond the field.