“I should have come and fetched you,” said George, as he shook hands with Mr. Angelo, and then drew the little bride’s hand through his arm to lead her into the church.
“Isn’t this a queer wedding?” she chattered on as they went through the great outer door which the pew-opener had just thrown open, and by which she now stood curtseying. “I’ve been thinking how hard it seems that I should be married without any cake or any bridesmaids, and mamma not here, nor anybody I know. But I’m not going to cry, no, I’m not going to cry.” As they got inside the church she looked up from George’s arm to his face and saw that his eyes were moist. “Why, it’s you who are crying, and you are trembling too! What’s the matter?” she whispered anxiously.
“Nothing, my darling,” he whispered back, as he pressed her hand against his side, “I was only thinking how good I must be to you, to make up for your having neither mother, nor cake, nor bridesmaids.”
They were walking up the middle aisle by this time and, perhaps for a moment a little awed by Lauriston’s solemn manner, or by the cold hollow bareness of the large, almost empty church, Nouna made no further remark until they reached the altar-rails, when she took an exhaustive look round, and observed that there was “a very funny window.” The pew-opener, who had followed them up the aisle as quickly as decency permitted, now suggested to the bridegroom that he and the lady should seat themselves in one of the front pews until the vicar, who had not yet arrived, should be ready. But the bride dismissed her with dignity, saying, “No, we will wait, so tell him to make haste”; and George, who felt that Nouna would look upon any inclination to take advantage of the suggestion as a desire to retract, stood up manfully with his back to the few spectators who at this early hour had trickled in to see the wedding, and began in the midst of his nervous excitement to be tormented by a fear of being late for parade. Mr. Angelo, who had, according to his own and the Countess’s express wish, arranged all the details of the marriage, now appeared from the vestry with the clergyman, who looked blue about the chin and rather cross, as if he had come out in a hurry, without having had time to shave or breakfast.
Just as George turned at the sound of their footsteps, he caught sight of a figure among the scanty congregation which made him start forward, forgetful of everything else. A low but indignant “St, st, what is the matter with you, sir?” from the clergyman, who glared at him in a manner which seemed to say that if they couldn’t keep their minds on what they were about he wouldn’t marry them at all, recalled him to himself, and the service began.
To do them justice, they gave him no further trouble. Nouna had studied her part in the service, had not only taken off her left glove without being told, but had tucked up the draperies that formed her sleeve, and left her arm bare to the shoulder as if ready to be vaccinated. She tripped off her part of the service glibly, in a clear, bright voice, without waiting for the clergyman, and then looked up at George with a tiny movement of the head that was almost a nod, as much as to say: “You see I’m determined to do you credit.” The only thing that puzzled her was the difficulty of knowing when to kneel down and when to stand up; in this, and in this alone, she was obliged to accept the clergyman’s guidance, and for this she kept her eyes fixed carefully upon him all the time.
Lauriston’s nervousness, increased by the sight of the figure he felt sure he recognised as that of Rahas, was so great that he became the victim of what he believed to be a most strange delusion of the ear. It seemed to him that every word of the prayers of the service was repeated, as the clergyman uttered it, in a soft, distinct tone, away in the body of the church behind them. As soon as the service was over, the bridegroom turned round with machine-like rapidity, and was just in time to see the figure he had noticed go down the further end of the south aisle and out at the door. Although the man wore a European overcoat and carried in his hand an English hat, George felt more than ever convinced that it was Rahas. He was accompanied by a woman, of whose appearance Lauriston could only note two details: she wore dark clothing and was small of stature. It was not Mrs. Ellis, certainly. Sundran? He thought not. While the young man stood, as if transfixed, staring after these two disappearing figures with straining eyes, unmindful of the touch of his newly-made wife on his arm, Mr. Angelo’s precise tones, close at his ear, roused him from his stupefaction.
“Come, Mr. Lauriston,” he said in a low but rather peremptory tone, “we have to go into the vestry.”
The old lawyer’s face was, as usual, impassive; but it occurred to Lauriston, a man rendered by his profession observant of details, that the steadiness with which Mr. Angelo ignored his persistent stare at the side-door argued that he was himself aware of the objects of interest there. He said nothing, however, but followed the clergyman into the vestry, and signed his name in the register.
“Come, now it’s your turn, little one,” he said tenderly to Nouna, who had slipped from his arm and was standing very quietly beside Mr. Angelo.