When the ducal party drove to the church, they found it almost filled with the other guests and a large number of the uninvited public, some of whom had been waiting for hours for the doors to be opened. For this was, as Lady Wyndover had said, to be the wedding of the season.
The duke, leaning on Lord Selvaine’s arm and his ebony stick, looked extremely well and happy, and the people pointed him out to each other and talked about him in awed and delighted whispers. Lord Selvaine, with his white hair and serene smile, attracted almost as much attention; but serene though it was, there was a touch of triumph in it.
This day was to see the restoration of his house, the rising of the Belfayre phœnix, and he was happy.
The organ played softly, the long procession of clergy and choir filed into the chancel, a murmur arose, and the marquis, with Lord Ffoulkes, his best man, came up the aisle.
“How handsome he is!” whispered the women, “and how noble looking! Any one could tell he was a Belfayre by his likeness to his father; he will make a splendid duke!”
He stood at the steps of the communion rail, grave and self-possessed, waiting for his bride; and presently the music quickened slightly, and she was seen coming up the aisle leaning upon the arm of Lord Blankyre, who was to “give her way.”
The murmur rose again, and grew almost too loud for a sacred edifice, as she came in sight; and the women whispered among themselves in admiration of her beauty and the magnificence of her dress. It was a splendid procession, a vision of white loveliness accentuated by gleaming pearls and flashing diamonds, and those who had spent hours of weary waiting felt that they were receiving their reward.
Esmeralda walked up the aisle with downcast eyes, but though she could feel the universal gaze upon her, she was not frightened. Fear had no place in the heart of the pride of Three Star. And as she raised her eyes and saw the crowd, the white-robed clergy, and the tall, commanding figure waiting for her at the altar, she thought of the camp. Only a few months ago she was Esmeralda Howard, a girl of no importance, running wild in a diggers’ camp; and now— Was it all a dream?
The service commenced; it was as elaborate and ornate as a full choir, enthusiastic organist, and a famous bishop could make it, and the spectators felt almost as if they were assisting at a state ceremony.