“This appears to me,” said Jericho, “a premeditated affront. All a plan to insult your daughter, Mrs. Jericho; to insult the family; to insult me. I wish the devil may”—“Beg your pardon, sir,” said the clerk: “but you must remember where you are; can’t admit of such language here.” Mr. Jericho drew himself up to reply; but could not speak. At length his wordless scorn exploded in a burst of laughter. “This is shameful,” cried the clerk. “Brawling in church.” “My dear sir, it is vexing,” said Mizzlemist with quick knowledge of the ecclesiastical law—“but control your feelings.” “And why—why should I control them?” roared Jericho—“I suppose I can afford to pay for them. The bride shall not stay to be insulted; the young lady shall not remain a minute longer.” Dear Agatha! Then might be seen the little loves, with blubbered cheeks, sitting squat among her orange flowers; picking bud and blossom, and with sobbings, dropping them upon the vestry floor. And every minute gave new fire to Miss Candituft’s eye—new red to her cheek—new fulness to her lip.
“Why, sir, sir,” cried Atkins, again shaking the bridegroom; “you’re to be married to-day, sir; and it’s past the time. Have you forgot, sir?” “I know all about it,” snorted Hodmadod; “scoundrel—disobeyed my orders—leave my service—world before you—all before you;” and with this, delivered very somnolently, Hodmadod rolled over upon his side, and would not awake. “I see how it is,” thought Atkins. “He has turned the matter over in his mind; he has thought better of it, and this is his plan to get off the match.” And Atkins had his own reasons for approving of his master’s determination: Atkins would rather serve a bachelor, than a married man. Hence, when Candituft presented himself at the house—sent by a whisper from Mrs. Jericho to seek the bridegroom—Atkins declared that he knew nothing of his master; therefore, could say nothing. All he knew was, that Sir Arthur had intended to be married that morning; and if he was not at the church; if he was not married by that time, why that was his master’s business; and not his, Atkins’s. Moreover; perhaps Mr. Candituft and Sir Arthur had missed one another on the road. Now, Mr. Candituft was by no means urgent in his inquiries; he did not sift the testimony of the valet; in fact, asked for no particulars; but taking the suggestion of Atkins as the truth, assuming that the bridegroom and himself had crossed each other, the Man-Tamer returned to the vestry at the same leisurely rate at which he had set out upon his journey.
“Another five minutes, and ’twill be too late,” cried Mizzlemist. Jericho said nothing; but rocked himself backwards and forwards in a chair, his hands in his pockets, and grinning to himself the most tremendous revenge. Mrs. Jericho sat frowning and tapping her foot; Monica looked blank and sympathetic, she could not but feel for the distress of the bride; Agatha wept without attempting to restrain her tears, whilst the Hon. Miss Candituft, calmly looking down upon the victim, held to the sobbing maid a bottle of salts. At this moment, the Hon. Mr. Candituft entered the vestry; he looked about him, as though expecting to see the bridegroom. “Why, he’s not come!” said Candituft, surprised; “where can he be?” At this moment the church clock struck. “It is past the canonical hour,” cried Mizzlemist, in tones heavy and sad as passing-bell. “Too late to marry to-day,” said the clerk, “if the gentleman comes now.” Mr. Jericho, without saying a word, rose. He approached the bride; and in the most peremptory manner offered his arm to the forlorn one. Agatha, wiping her tears, and drawing her veil about her scalded face, laid her trembling hand upon her father-in-law. Mr. Candituft, with words of sympathy, led away Mrs. Jericho, who would have despised herself to say a syllable then and there upon the shameful transaction. Monica followed with Mizzlemist, and as she declared, from the bottom of her heart pitying her poor sister; with a supplementary wish, accompanied by a spasmodic clutching of her little right hand, “that she was only a man to revenge dear Agatha.” Miss Candituft was silent; but as she descended the church steps, her face glowed and her eyes sparkled with triumph.
CHAPTER XX.
As St. Shekels clock struck twelve, the bridegroom awoke. Heavily yawning, he called for Atkins. The faithful creature, hovering about the door, immediately entered the room. “Atkins, what’s o’clock?” demanded Hodmadod.
Atkins, afraid to give a direct reply, said, “Clock, sir? ha, sir! don’t you know?”
“How the devil should I know?” asked Hodmadod, still yawning, and then stretching himself, and rolling backwards and forwards, half stupified by sleep. “What’s o’clock?”