"Well, are you all ready?" demanded old Aaron, looking critically upon the party.
"All ready, sir," chirped Sylvan for the others.
"Come, then."
And the aged bridegroom drew the arm of his bride-elect within his own and led the way down stairs and out to the handsome carriage that stood waiting.
He handed her in, put her on the back seat and placed himself beside her.
Sylvan helped his sister into the carriage and followed her. They seated themselves on the front seat opposite the bridal pair.
And the carriage drove off.
"Oh!" suddenly exclaimed old Aaron Rockharrt, rummaging in the breast pocket of his coat and drawing thence a white envelope and handing it to Sylvan; "here, take this and give it to the minister as soon as we come before him."
The young man received the packet and looked inquiringly at the elder. It was really the marriage fee for the officiating clergyman, and a very ostentatious one also; but the Iron King did not condescend to explain anything. He had given it to his grandson with his orders, which he expected to be implicitly obeyed without question. They reached the church, the same church in which they had heard the dean preach on the previous Sunday. They alighted from the carriage and entered the building, old Aaron Rockharrt leading the way with his bride-elect on his arm, Sylvan and Cora following. The church was vacant of all except the minister, who stood in his surplice behind the chancel railing, and the sexton who had opened the door for the party, and was now walking before them up the aisle.
The church was empty, because this, though the wedding of a millionaire, was one of which it might be said that there was "No feast, no cake, no cards, no nothing."