“Oh, if I can only get this morning over,” said Gellow to himself; and then aloud—
“Nonsense, my dear boy, you’re a bit nervous, that’s all. I suppose a man is when he’s going to be married. You’re all right. Come, have a devilled kidney or a snack of something. You don’t eat enough.”
“Eat?” said Glyddyr, with a shudder. “No; I seem to have no appetite now.”
“Come on, and let’s get it over. Here’s the carriage waiting. Steady, man, steady. No; not a drop more.”
“The carriage is at the door, sir,” said the waiter; and striving hard to be firm, and to master a tremulous sensation about his knees, Glyddyr walked out into the hall, where a buzzing sound that was heard suddenly ceased till the pair were in the carriage, from whose roof the rain was streaming. Then, after banging too the door, the waiter dashed back under shelter, the dripping horses started off, and the carriage disappeared in the misty rain.
“Looks as if he was going to execution,” said the man, with a laugh, as he dabbed the top of his head with his napkin. “Well, it do rain to-day.”
At the Fort everything had gone on that morning in a calm, subdued way that seemed to betoken no change. Claude came down to breakfast as usual, and sat looking dreamily before her, while Mary, red-eyed and sorrowful, had not the heart to speak.
Trevithick had slept there the previous night, and was the only guest, for Doctor Asher had declined to be present, on the score of professional calls.
“I’m afraid there is very little chance of its holding up,” said Trevithick, when they rose from the scarcely-touched breakfast.
“No, Mr Trevithick,” said Claude quietly. “I think we shall have a very wet day. Mary, dear, we must take our waterproofs. It is fifty yards from the lych-gate to the church door. Isn’t it time we went up to dress?”