There was a pause, to give opportunity for reply, if any reply was to be made—a mere form, as the adjuration itself was. Yet the bride shuddered throughout her frame. Many noticed it, but not the bridegroom.
The ceremony went on.
"'Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?'"
Old Aaron Rockharrt, who stood on the right of the bridal party, stepped forth, took his granddaughter's hand, and placed it in that of the groom, saying, with visible pride:
"I do."
The rites went on to their conclusion, and the whole party were invited into the dining-room, where the marriage feast was spread, where the revelry lasted two full hours, and might have lingered longer had not the bride withdrawn from the table, and, attended by her bridesmaids, retired to her chamber to change her bridal robes for a plain traveling suit of silver gray silk, with hat and gloves to match.
There the gentle, timid, old grandmother came to bid her pet child a private good-by.
"Are you happy, my love—are you happy?" she inquired. "Why don't you answer?"
"My heart is full—too full, grandma," evasively answered Corona Rothsay.
"Ah, yes; that is natural—very natural. 'Even so it was with me when I was young,'" sighed the old lady, who detected no evasion in the words of her darling.