"Sweet girl, forgive me this persistence!"
"May God never forgive me if I do!" she fiercely exclaimed, transfixing him with a flashing glance.
Never lover uttered a deeper sigh than that which Dr. Grimshaw gave forth as he led his unwilling bride to the carriage. The groomsman followed with the bridesmaid. The commodore and Mary L'Oiseau accompanied the party in a gig. Henrietta, true to her word, refused to be present at the marriage.
When the wedding party arrived at the chapel, all the pews were filled to suffocation with the crowd that the rumor of the approaching marriage had drawn together. And the bridal party were the cynosure of many hundred eyes as they passed up the aisle and stood before the altar.
The ceremony proceeded. But not one response, either verbally or mentally, did Jacquelina make. The priest passed over her silence, naturally ascribing it to bashfulness, and honestly taking her consent for granted.
The rites were finished, the benediction bestowed, and friends and acquaintances left their pews, and crowded around with congratulations.
Among the foremost was Thurston Willcoxen, whose suave and stately courtesy, and graceful bearing, and gracious words, so pleased Commodore Waugh that, knowing Jacquelina to be married and safe, he invited and urged the accomplished young "Parisian," as he was often called, to return and partake of the Christmas wedding breakfast.
"Nace, do you take your bride home in the gig, as you will want her company to yourself, and we will go in the carriage," said the commodore, good-naturedly. In fact, the old man had not been in such a fine humor for many a day.
Dr. Grimshaw, "nothing loth," led his fair bride to the gig, handed her in, and took the place beside her.
"Now, then, fairest and dearest, you are at last, indeed, my own!" he said, seeking her eyes.