And now the Bishop takes his place near the table, and opens the book.
The ceremony begins.
Pale as marble, and almost insensible to what is passing around her, Maria Villiers hears a sort of droning mumbling, but cannot distinguish the words.
And yet the Bishop read the prayers in a clear, distinct, and impressive manner.
One of the bridemaids whispered in Maria's ear; and the young victim mechanically repeated the answer thus prompted.
But she was scarcely aware of the tenour of what she had said: every moment the scene became less comprehensible to her mind—and she was on the point of uttering a wild cry, so alarming was the confusion of her thoughts, when there was a sudden movement amongst the assembly—warm lips touched her forehead for a moment and were instantly withdrawn—and then her ears rang with the congratulations of her friends!
The chaos of her ideas was immediately dispelled; and the appalling truth broke suddenly on her.
The ceremony was over—and she was a wife:—upon her marble brow the kiss of a husband had been imprinted.
By one of those strange efforts of which the soul is sometimes capable, when "the worst" has arrived and "the bitterness of death" has passed, Maria recovered her presence of mind, and even smiled faintly in acknowledgment of the congratulations which she received.
"Dat young lady seem vare happy now," whispered the German philosopher to Mrs. Berrymenny; "but it all noting more dan de idea. We all idea—dat reverend Bischop—dis room—dat book what he was read in—every ting!"