“They are both very dear to me,” she replied, raising the flowers to her lips.
Their fragrance filled the room while the simple ceremony was being performed. It was a striking picture, and one not likely to be forgotten. Levice’s eyes filled with proud, pardonable tears as he looked at his daughter,—for never had she looked as to-day in her simple white gown, her face like a magnolia bud, a fragrant dream; standing next to Kemp, the well-mated forms were noticeable. Even Arnold, with his heart like a crushed ball of lead, acknowledged it in bitter resignation. For him the scene was one of those silent, purgatorial moments that are approached with senses steeled and thought held in a vice. To the others it passed, as if it had happened in a dream. Even when Kemp stooped and pressed his lips for the first time upon his wife’s, the real meaning of what had taken place seemed far away to Ruth; the present held but one thing in prominence,—the pale face upon the pillow. She felt her mother’s arms around her; she knew that Louis had raised her hand to his lips, that she had drawn his head down and kissed him, that Dr. Kemp was standing silently beside her, that the minister had spoken some gravely pleasant words; but all the while she wanted to tear herself away from it all and fold that eager, loving, dying face close to hers. She was allowed to do so finally; and when she was drawn into the outstretched arms, there was only the long silence of love.
Kemp had left the room with Dr. Stephens, having a further favor to intrust to him. The short announcement of this marriage, which Dr. Stephens gave for insertion in the evening papers, created a world of talk.
When Kemp re-entered, Levice called him to him, holding out his hand. The doctor grasped it in that firm clasp which was always a tonic.
“Will you kneel?” asked Levice; Kemp knelt beside his wife, and the old father blessed them in the words that held a double solemnity now:—
“‘The Lord bless thee and keep thee.
“‘The Lord make his face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee.
“‘The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee and give thee peace.’”
“I think if you don’t mind, dear, I shall close my eyes now,” he said as they arose.
Ruth moved about, closing the blinds.