“Gwen is to meet us at the church,” explained Cecil. “Do you know I think the carriage must be waiting, for I see the eldest little Hallifield tearing across the court-yard.”
“Then I must say good-by to every one,” said Sigrid; and with one last look round the little home which had grown so dear to them, she took Frithiof’s arm and went out into the long stone passage, where a group of the neighbors stood waiting to see the last of her, and to give her their hearty good wishes. She had a word and a smile for every one, and they all followed her down the stairs and across the court-yard and stood waving their hands as the carriage drove off.
That chapter of her life was ended, and the busy hive of workers would no longer count her as queen-bee of the establishment. The cares and troubles and wearing economies were things of the past, but she would take with her and keep forever many happy memories; and many friendships would still last and give her an excuse for visiting afterward the scene of her first home in London.
She was quite silent as they drove through the busy streets, her eyes had again that sweet, dreamy look in them that Cecil had noticed earlier in the morning; she did not seem to see outward things, until after a while her eyes met Frithiof’s, and then her face, which had been rather grave, broke into sudden brightness, and she said a few words to him in Norse, which he replied to with a look so full of loving pride and contentment that it carried the sunshine straight into Cecil’s heart.
“This marriage is a capital thing for him,” she thought to herself. “He will be happy in her happiness.”
By this time they had reached the church; Lance, in the dress he had worn at Mrs. Horner’s fancy ball, stood ready to hold the bride’s train, and Gwen came running up to take her place in the little procession.
A few spectators had dropped in, but the church was very quiet, and up in the chancel there were only Roy and his best man, Madame Lechertier, old Herr Sivertsen, and the father and mother of the bridegroom. Charles Osmond read the service, and his pretty daughter-in-law had begged leave to play the organ, for she had taken a fancy not only to little Swanhild, but to the whole family, when at her father-in-law’s request she had called upon them. After the wedding was over and the procession had once more passed down the aisle, she still went on playing, having a love of finishing in her nature. Charles Osmond came out of the vestry and stood beside her.
“I am glad you played for them,” he said when the last chord had been struck. “It was not at all the sort of wedding to be without music.”
“It was one of the nicest weddings I was ever at,” she said: “and as to your Norseman—he is all you said, and more. Do you know, there is a strong look about him which somehow made me think of my father. Oh! I do hope he will be able to pay off the debts.”
“There is only one thing which could hinder him,” said Charles Osmond.