Many, indeed, attended the service who had no intention of joining the subsequent gathering. Jacob gave Avis away, and Auna was her bridesmaid; while for Robert, his elder brother, home from sea for a while, acted as best man.
The Huxams sat in church together, and Auna heard from Jane, before the wedded pair set out for Red House, that Margery was not so well that day. Auna kept her bad news until all was over at home and Avis and Robert had driven off together. Then she sought Jacob who sat alone, thankful to be alone, and told him that her mother was worse. But she came to the sad matter slowly, dwelt first on all that had happened, and declared that everything had fallen out very triumphantly.
"Dear old Mr. Marydrew sat by me at the feast," said Auna, "and Mr. Middleweek sat on the other side of me, and they were both very cheerful indeed—even George, though George is no believer in marriage."
"Isn't he, Auna?"
"Oh, no. He and Billy talked about it, and Billy says there's more happy marriages than not; and George said the happy ones be like a corncrake in the hayfield—oftener heard of than seen. And he said that marriage was like living in a shop all the time—buying, or selling—haggling and trying to get a cheap bargain on one side and holding out for the price on the other. But I'm sure George don't mean all the acid things he says about people marrying. And Mr. Marydrew talked very hopefully of the next world, and says he'll be a farmer up there and begin all over again. But he much hopes the Happy Land won't want such a lot of muck spread on it as Dartmoor does."
Jacob smiled, while she chattered; then she came to the bad news gently.
"I hope that mother will be strong enough to have a little tell with Avis and Bob before they start," she said; "but I'm terrible sorry to say dear mother ain't very peart this morning. Aunt Jane told me about it after Avis was married. I talked to her and Uncle Jeremy in the churchyard, and they both said it was a very beautiful wedding in their opinion, and Avis never looked so fine. But mother's gone weak. There ain't no nature in her."
He sighed.
"You'd best to go in first thing to-morrow. And we'll send her some goats' milk again. It did her good last summer. I made her drink some red wine, once, when she got too thin years ago. Burgundy it is called. I'll see the doctor about her. He doesn't like me; but he won't fear to name wine for her if he thinks it would be a right thing."
"Grandmother wouldn't suffer mother to drink wine, father."