Everything had been clear then, in imagination; now something was
undefined. She had little carking anxieties; a curious fatefulness
seemed to rule her, and she experienced a mournful want of some one to
confide in.
The day loomed so big and nigh that her prophetic ear could, in fancy,
catch the noise of it, hear the murmur of the villagers as she came out
of church, imagine the jangle of the three thin-toned Hintock bells.
The dialogues seemed to grow louder, and the ding-ding-dong of those
three crazed bells more persistent. She awoke: the morning had come.
Five hours later she was the wife of Fitzpiers.