The witnesses affixed their signatures, and the deed was done.
Then David Lindsay courteously thanked the priest and shook hands with him, leaving in his palm a very liberal fee.
Finally, he drew the arm of his bride under his own to lead her forth.
As he led her down the aisle, on their way out of the church, some whispered words among the three women who had witnessed their marriage, and who now followed close behind them, fell on his ears.
“A runaway match, as sure as you are born, and the girl repents already. She looks like death, she does,” said one woman.
“She’s scared nearly out of her wits for fear her father or somebody will be after her,” said another.
“I declare I don’t know how any conscientious minister of the gospel ever can find it in his mind to marry a runaway couple—and such children as these are, too. I must say, I am astonished at Mr. O’Halloran!” added the third woman.
“Well, for my part,” recommenced the first, “if one of my daughters should be so lost to all sense of propriety as to go off with any young man, I should be exceedingly thankful to the first minister, or even magistrate, who should tie them lawfully together.”
“To be sure, there is something in that, which I never thought of before,” answered the caviler.
David Lindsay drew his trembling companion on faster, in order to escape hearing any more of these unpleasant comments.