Where is the brow to wear in mortal’s sight,
The crown of pure angelic light?
Charles stood with his head leaning against a pillar as if he could not bear to look up; Mr. Edmonstone was restless and almost sobbing; Mrs. Edmonstone alone collected, though much flushed and somewhat trembling, while the only person apparently free from excitement was the little bride, as there she knelt, her hand clasped in his, her head bent down, her modest, steadfast face looking as if she was only conscious of the vow she exchanged, the blessing she received, and was, as it were, lifted out of herself.
It was over now. The feast, in its fullest sense, was held, and the richest of blessings had been called down on them.
The procession came out of the vestry in full order, and very pretty it was; the bride and bridegroom in the fresh bright graciousness of their extreme youth, and the six bridesmaids following; Laura and Lady Eveleen, two strikingly handsome and elegant girls; Charlotte, with the pretty little fair Marianne; Mary Ross, and Grace Harper. The village people who stood round might well say that such a sight as that was worth coming twenty miles to see.
The first care, after the bridal pair had driven off, was to put Charles into his pony-carriage. Charlotte, who had just pinned on his favour, begged to drive him, for she meant to make him her especial charge, and to succeed to all Amy’s rights. Mrs. Edmonstone asked whether Laura would not prefer going with him, but she hastily answered,
‘No, thank you, let Charlotte;’ for with her troubled feelings, she could better answer talking girls than parry the remarks of her shrewd, observant brother.
Some one said it would rain, but Charlotte still pleaded earnestly.
‘Come, then, puss,’ said Charles, rallying his spirits, ‘only don’t upset me, or it will spoil their tour.’
Charlotte drove off with elaborate care,—then came a deep sigh, and she exclaimed, ‘Well! he is our brother, and all is safe.’
‘Yes,’ said Charles; ‘no more fears for them.’