At length he started as from a trance and saw her sitting there, very quiet, for the pride of her nature was beginning to rise at this strange treatment from him to whom she had just given herself—her all. She was nervously moving the fingers of her left hand, where the newly placed ring felt heavy and strange.
Nathanael snatched the hand with violence.
“Agatha,—are you not my Agatha? Tell me the truth—the whole truth. I will have it from you!”
“Mr. Harper!” she exclaimed, half frightened, half angry.
His long, searching gaze tried to read her every feature—her pale cheeks—her lips proud, nay, almost sullen—her eyes, from which the softness so lately visible had changed into inquietude and trouble. There was in her all maidenly innocence—no one could doubt that; but nothing could be more unlike the shy tenderness of a bride, loving, and married for love.
Slowly, slowly, the young bridegroom's gaze fell from her, and his thoughts settled into dull conviction. All his violence ceased, leaving an icy composure, which in itself bore the omen of its lasting stay.
“Forgive me,” he said, in a kind but cold voice, while his vehement grasp relaxed into a loose hold. “You are my dear wife now, and I will try to be a good husband to you, Agatha.”
Stooping forward, his lips just touched her cheek—which shrank from him, Agatha scarcely knew why.
“I see!” he muttered to himself “Well, be it so! and God help us both!”
The carriage stopped. Honest Mr. James Thornycroft was at the door, bidding a gay and full-hearted welcome to the bridegroom and bride.