“‘Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?’” was the next question in the ritual.
“‘I do,’” answered the sonorous voice of old General Lyon, as he came forward, took the hand of the bride and placed it in that of the minister.
Then the brave old soldier stepped back and turned away his head, to hide the tears that filled those eyes which had never quailed in the battle’s deadliest brawl; though they wept now, at his giving away, as he supposed the last darling of his old age.
But the minister was now joining the hands of the pair before him.
And bridegroom and bride, in their turn plighted their troth each to the other.
Alick uttered his vows in the firm and rather defiant tones in which he had made all his responses.
Anna Drusilla breathed hers in murmurs low as the softest notes of the Æolian harp.
Then the ring was given and received.
The last prayers were said; the benediction was given, and the pair was pronounced to be man and wife.
Alexander turned gaily and gallantly to salute his bride.