“They shall believe you!” answered the woman peremptorily, “ask him if he dares dispute that?”
Catharine took the paper, which Jane Kelly held out, and glanced at it; but her head grew giddy, and the letters floated like traceries of mist before her eyes. She only knew that it was a certificate of her own marriage with George De Marke. Her hands began to tremble violently: she burst into a passion of tears.
“Your courage will not fail,” said Jane, “I may be sure of that.”
“My duty cannot fail; I must do it,” answered Catharine, sadly.
“Then I will go home. Remember, they will arrive at sunset. After that, you must not count on any time as safe.”
“I know, I know,” murmured Catharine, gazing wistfully upon the certificate in her hand, “there can be no wavering, no doubt now: in this paper, God has unfolded my duty.”
She looked around. The woman had disappeared. Catharine was alone with her God.
CHAPTER LXXV.
THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY.
That night, a small steamer put in at a landing, not far from Mrs. Oakley’s cottage, and a crowd of cheerful, richly dressed persons came, in scattered groups, along the shore, chattering, laughing, and making the sweet air joyous with merriment. There was one group quieter than the rest, and over which a gentle serenity, almost amounting to sadness, seemed to reign. This was the bridal party. George De Marke walked gravely by his brother, leading the adopted son by the hand; and the child now and then brought a smile to his lips, by his pretty surprise at the number of persons who seemed to be visitors at his home.
At the right hand of the widow-bride moved the stately Mrs. Judson, all smiles and condescension to the man whom, a few days before, she was ready to crush into the earth with sovereign disdain. Her dress of purple and gold brocade swept the grass with its rich folds, and she wore her mantilla of old point as a queen displays the ermine of royalty.