'Come in.' Felix rose to greet her, taking both her hands and kissing her through her veil. 'My Star of the East, my happy gift!' he said. 'Stella, eighteen years ago father put you two freshly christened babies into my arms. I gave dear little Theodore in his innocence back to him last Whitsuntide. I am thankful to be allowed to give you in your bridal white to the home that is to cherish you for the better Home.'
She looked up in his face, which a flush of rosy colour was restoring to something of its old self. 'Oh! brother,' she said, 'I am so glad you spoke of dear Theodore. Charlie says we may take him my flowers as soon as it is over. I wonder if he knows.'
'It may be, better than if he were here,' said Felix. 'Then it would have been a sad day for him.'
'I could not have done it,' said Stella, and lowering her voice, 'I don't know how I can have done it now. Oh, brother, nothing ever can be like you!'
'It is one of my great comforts that you have done it, my Star, my own especial child. I am glad you are the one I give away. Are they all ready?'
'I think so.' And just then Geraldine knocked to intimate that the Audley party were known to be arrived at the church, and that the clergy and choir were ready. So Stella took the arm, not clinging, lest she should hurt him, but lightly resting her fingers on it, and they came forth, he with that youthful flush of colour on his cheek, with all his scrupulous grace of attire, and with a white camellia in his coat, but with that far-away look in his eyes; and she with bent head, and deep concentrated spirit, never lifting her eyes from the ground. The bridesmaids fell in behind, first the three small nieces, Mary Harewood trotting between the other two, then the two sisters—Robina in her sedate reserve, and Angela, flushing, quivering and trembling, and never taking her eyes from Felix; and next the ill-matched pair Gertrude May and Margaret Audley, the former thrilling at the smile and clasp of the hand she had exchanged with Felix, the latter's little black eyes taking note of everything not accordant with Audley conventionalities.
Then came the rest in due order, Geraldine upon Ferdinand's arm, glad it was so strong and friendly; for this, the first home wedding, made her shiver with nervous excitement.
The elder Charles Audley, who had assisted in the twins' baptism by their dying father, and had stood as their sponsor, was standing robed at the inner archway of the tower, with Clement and William on either side, while behind were the choir, Lance leading them.
Of course the whole parish was in the seats, Miss Isabella herself, unable to help feeling that the marriage was infinitely more solemn, and full of real praise and prayer, than those whose 'simplicity' she had been wont to uphold.
No one ever forgot the quietly loving gesture with which the fatherly brother put his fair young sister into the hands of the Church to be 'given to this man,' and the movement after the trothplight up to the festally decked chancel was an exceedingly beautiful sight in itself. Mr. Audley took the licence of giving a short but beautiful address of his own on the significance and glory of holy wedlock, and then the union was crowned and sealed by the hallowed Feast; for it had not been thought fit to hurry it over out of sight beforehand, out of deference to the two baronets, who, like the children and idler gazers, left the church, and loitered outside, observing that 'this was too strong.'