Time wore on, and the family of Jericho were assembled—all but Basil. Agatha sighed as she marked his absence; two or three tears came to her eyes; and then she thought of Arthur and the cruelty of Basil was, on the moment, forgiven and forgotten. Mr. Jericho put his best face upon the day. He looked shining and as full as he well could be, of content. If his face was sharp, it was—for the occasion—polished. Mrs. Jericho had resolved to part with her daughter with dignified fortitude. Monica was all resignation to her own disappointment, and her sister bridesmaid, the Hon. Miss Candituft, pensive but proud; with a furtive look of mischief in her eye, as it fell upon the unconscious Agatha. And all the party were prepared for church.
Atkins had twice or thrice listened at his master’s door; and still his master slept. Atkins looked at his watch, and was astounded at the hour. Still the bridegroom slept. Atkins thought he would rouse his master; and then he thought of his master’s stern command and threat; thought too of the profits of his place, and therefore let the bridegroom sleep.
The carriages rolled from Jericho House on their way to the church. The white bows shone on the servants; the lily for a minute triumphed in the face of the bride. St. Shekels opened on the bridal company. The heart of Agatha beat thicker at the church-door.
Atkins again listened at the chamber, again and again; not a sound. The medicine—the drugs! A horrid suspicion—despite of the warranty of the chemist—shot all through the valet. Along every nerve, throughout every bone of his body—as he afterwards declared—a dreadful doubt of double-dealing; of cowardly evasion of the hymeneal engagement by means of poison. Atkins entered the chamber.
The bridal party ascended the steps of St. Shekels. The looks of Agatha hungered for her love: hungered, though bent upon the church stones. Expectation, to the tips of Agatha’s fingers, awaited the hand of Arthur to press her hand. The bridal party entered the vestry.