As the eventful day breaks, I wake, and, rising, get through the principal part of my dressing without aid, a proceeding that much disappoints mother, who at this last hour of my childhood feels as though I were once more her baby, and would have liked, with lingering touches, to dress me bit by bit.
At eight o'clock Martha knocks at my bedroom door and hands in to us a sealed packet, with "Marmaduke's love" written on the outside, and opening it we disclose to view the Carrington diamonds, reset, remodelled, and magnificent in their brilliancy. This is a happy thought on his part, and raises our spirits for twenty minutes at least: though after this some chance word makes our eyes grow moist again, and we weep systematically all through the morning—during the dressing, and generally up to the very last moment—so that when at length I make my appearance in church and walk up tho aisle on papa's arm, I am so white and altogether dejected that I may be considered ghastly.
Marmaduke is also extremely pale, but perfectly calm and self-possessed, and has even a smile upon his lips. As he sees me he comes quickly forward, and taking me from papa, leads me himself to the altar—a proceeding that causes much excitement among the lower members of the congregation, who, in loud whispers, approve his evident fondness for me.
So the holy words are read, and the little mystical golden fetter encircles my finger. I write myself Phyllis Marian Vernon for the last time; and Sir Mark Gore, coming up to me in the vestry-room, slips a beautiful bracelet on my arm, and whispers, smiling:—-
"I hope you will accept all good wishes with this—Mrs. Carrington."
I start and blush faintly as the new title strikes upon my ears, and almost forget to thank him in wondering at its strangeness. Then Marmaduke kisses me gravely, and, giving me his arm leads me back to the carriage, and it is all over!
Am I indeed no longer a child? Is my wish accomplished, and am I at last "grown up?" How short a time ago I stood in my bridal robes in mother's room, still Phyllis Vernon—still a girl and now—Why, it was only a few minutes ago—-
"Oh, Marmaduke, am I really married?" I say, gazing at him with half-frightened eyes; and he says—-
"Yes, I think so," with an amused smile, and puts his arm round me and kisses me very gently. "And now we are going to be happy ever after," he says, laughing a little.
All through breakfast I am in a haze—a dream. I cut what they put upon my plate, but I cannot eat. I listen to Marmaduke's few words as he makes the customary speech and think of him as though it were yesterday and not to-day. I cannot realize that my engagement is over, that what we have been preparing for these nine months past is at last a settled fact.