Thus I pondered, until I heard the church bells ring out merrily. The marriage was over.
I was just in time to meet them at the front gates, which they entered—our Edwin and his wife—through a living line of smiling faces, treading upon a carpet of strewn flowers. Enderley would not be defrauded of its welcome—all the village escorted the young couple in triumph home. I have a misty recollection of how happy everybody looked, how the sun was shining, and the bells ringing, and the people cheering—a mingled phantasmagoria of sights and sounds, in which I only saw one person distinctly,—John.
He waited while the young folk passed in—stood on the hall-steps—in a few words thanked his people, and bade them to the general rejoicing. They, uproarious, answered in loud hurrahs, and one energetic voice cried out:
"One cheer more for Master Guy!"
Guy's mother turned delighted—her eyes shining with proud tears.
"John—thank them; tell them that Guy will thank them himself to-morrow."
The master thanked them, but either he did not explain—or the honest rude voices drowned all mention of the latter fact—that Guy would be home to-morrow.
All this while, and at the marriage-breakfast likewise, Mr. Halifax kept the same calm demeanour. Once only, when the rest were all gathered round the bride and bridegroom, he said to me:
"Phineas, is it done?"
"What is done?" asked Ursula, suddenly passing.