“How then do you regard it?” asked Mistress Annis, “as a time of solemnity and fear?”
“We regard it as we do other religious rites. We think it a condition to be assumed with religious thought and gravity. Madam Temple is of our opinion. She said dressing and dancing and feasting over a bridal always reminded her of the ancient sacrificial festivals and its garlanded victim.”
The squire gave a hearty assent to Faith’s opinion. He said it was not only right but humane that most young fellows hated the show, and fuss, and wastry over the usual wedding festival, and would be grateful to escape it. “And I don’t mind saying,” he added, “that Annie and I did escape it; and I am sure our married life has been as near to a perfectly happy life as mortals can hope for in this world.”
“Dick also thinks as we do,” said Faith.
“That, of course,” replied Mistress Annis, just a little offended at the non-acceptance of her social plans.
However, Faith carried out her own wishes in a strict but sweetly considerate way. Towards the end of November, Mr. Foster had been comfortably settled in his new home at Bradford. She had arranged his study and put his books in the alphabetical order he liked, and every part of the small dwelling was in spotless order and comfort.
In the meantime Annie was preparing with much love and care the Pomfret house for Dick and Dick’s wife. It was a work she delighted herself in and she grudged neither money nor yet personal attention to make it a House Beautiful.
She did not, however, go to the wedding. It was November, dripping and dark and cold, and she knew she had done all she could, and that it would be the greatest kindness, at this time, to retire. But she kissed Dick and sent him away with love and good hopes and valuable gifts of lace and gems for his bride. The squire accompanied him to Bradford, and they went together to The Black Swan Inn. A great political meeting was to occur that night in the Town Hall, and the squire went there, while Dick spent a few hours with his bride and her father. As was likely to happen, the squire was immediately recognized by every wool-dealer present and he was hailed with hearty cheers, escorted to the platform, and made what he always considered the finest speech of his life. He was asked to talk of the Reform Bill and he said:
“Not I! That child was born to England after a hard labor and will hev to go through the natural growth of England, which we all know is a tremendously slow one. But it will go on! It will go on steadily, till it comes of full age. Varry few, if any of us, now present will be in this world at that time; but I am sure wherever we are, the news will find us out and will gladden our hearts even in the happiness of a better world than this, though I’ll take it on me to say that this world is a varry good world if we only do our duty in it and to it, and love mercy and show kindness.” Then he spoke grandly for labor and the laboring man and woman. He pointed out their fine, though uncultivated intellectual abilities, told of his own weavers, learning to read after they were forty years old, of their unlearning an old trade and learning a new one with so much ease and rapidity, and of their great natural skill in oratory, both as regarded religion and politics. “Working men and working women are the hands of the whole world,” he said. “With such men as Cartwright and Stevenson among them, I wouldn’t dare to say a word lessening the power of their mental abilities. Mebbe it was as great a thing to invent the power loom or conceive of a railroad as to run a newspaper or write a book.”
He was vehemently applauded. Some time afterwards, Faith said the Yorkshire roar of approval was many streets away, and that her father went to find out what had caused it. “He was told by the man at the door, ‘it’s nobbut one o’ them Yorkshire squires who hev turned into factory men. A great pity, sir!’ he added. ‘Old England used to pin her faith on her landed gentry, and now they hev all gone into the money market.’ My father then said that they might be just as useful there, and the man answered warmly: ‘And thou art the new Methodist preacher, I suppose! I’m ashamed of thee—I am that!’ When father tried to explain his meaning, the man said: ‘Nay-a! I’m not caring what tha means. A man should stand by what he says. Folks hevn’t time to find out his meanings. I’ve about done wi’ thee!’ Father told him he had not done with him and would see him again in a few days.” And then she smiled and added, “Father saw him later, and they are now the best of friends.” The wedding morning was gray and sunless, but its gloom only intensified the white loveliness of the bride. Her perfectly plain, straight skirt of rich, white satin and its high girlish waist looked etherially white in the November gloom. A wonderful cloak of Russian sable which was Aunt Josepha’s gift, covered her when she stepped into the carriage with her father, and then drove with the little wedding party to Bradford parish church. There was no delay of any kind. The service was read by a solemn and gracious clergyman, the records were signed in the vestry, and in less than an hour the party was back at Mr. Foster’s house. A simple breakfast for the eight guests present followed, and then Faith, having changed her wedding gown for one of light gray broadcloth of such fine texture that it looked like satin, came into the parlor on her father’s arm. He took her straight to Dick, and once more gave her to him. The tender little resignation was made with smiles and with those uncalled tears which bless and consecrate happiness that is too great for words.