“No fear of they’re making capital sailors. And they’ll be quite company, won’t they, to feed ’em, and watch their ways? And what’s more, when we get reg’larly settled, why their noise will always remind us of England. How they will caw and caw, eh! Rather have ’em with us”—and Bob slapt his leg to emphasise the preference,—“rather have ’em than a band of music.”
And the sun set and rose and shone out the bridal morning. As the good folks of Primrose Place had determined that the ceremony should be performed with the best quiet and simplicity, we are left but little to do as chroniclers of the marriage. We may merely observe that Bessy flushed into a positive beauty; and her mother, as Carraways said, had somehow flung clean away twelve or fourteen years from her face, determined on that occasion only to look the bride’s elder sister. Miss Barnes, the bridesmaid—for Carraways would have none other—was, despite of herself, sad. The event seemed to bring into her face, a past history. Of Basil we have nothing to say; the bridegroom is so rarely interesting.
Topps claimed the privilege of driving the bride to church. (The slim Mrs. Topps, with riband and bows, had burst out in white like a cherry-tree in brilliant blossom). Topps, however, to the passing—very passing disquiet—of Carraways, who wished everything to be so simple, drove to the door with a white favour in his hat, as big as a ventilator; a favour in his coat; and four favours to match on the heads of the horses.
“A stupid fellow!” said Carraways.
“Well, after all, my dear,” said his wife, “I don’t know if Robert isn’t right. There’s no harm in a bit of riband; and why should we steal to church as if we were ashamed of what we’re doing? What do you think, Miss Barnes?”
“It’s quite right,” said Carraways; for he well knew what Miss Barnes would think. “Drive on, Robert.”
In a short time the bridal party reached St. Asphodel’s church. A short time and Basil and Bessy stand hand in hand at the altar. The minutes pass; and the lovers’ destinies—as before their hearts—grow into one. The priest is silent; and “amen” like consecrating balm, hallows the mystery.
And then father and mother, and humble friends, gather close to the wedded; press them and bless them. And the spirits that await on human trustfulness, and human hope, when plighted to each other to make the best and lightest of the world’s journey, be it through a garden or over a desert; arrayed with roses, or strown with flint—the spirits that sanctify and strengthen simple faith and all unworldly love,—hover about bride and bridegroom, and as they take their way from the church, bless them on their pilgrimage.
Another hour, and Robert Topps is again in attendance at Primrose Place. Trunks are brought to the door, and packed on the carriage; and in a few minutes Basil hands his wife to her seat. There has been a shower of tears within at the separation; though mother and daughter are to meet again in so short a time. For be it known that Basil and his bride are westward bound, to pass the first three or four days of the honeymoon on the coast; to be duly taken thence by the good ship Halcyon calling there on the voyage out.