It was nearly twelve o’clock when two carriages rolled up to the church door, bringing the bridal party from Hawkhurst. From the first of these alighted Neva and Rufus Black. The heiress was attired in white, with pink ribbon at her waist and pink roses securing the frill of lace at her throat, and Rufus wore the prescribed dress suit of black. They walked up the aisle side by side, and more than one noticed how pale the young girl was. They took their places in the Wynde family pew, for Neva had resolutely declined to enact the part of bride’s-maid to her father’s widow, and would have declined to appear at the wedding had not she realized that her absence would be more marked and conspicuous than her presence.
The young heiress had scarcely sank into her seat, when a fluttering at the door declared to the assembly that the hero and heroine of the occasion were at hand. In defiance of the custom of meeting at the altar, Craven Black and Lady Wynde came in together, she leaning upon his arm.
Her ladyship was dressed in a pink moire, with sweeping court train of pink velvet. She had worn white at her first marriage, pearl color at her second; and for the third, and most satisfactorily to her, had put on the color of love. A diadem set with flashing diamonds starred her black, fashionably dishevelled hair, above her low forehead. Her arms and neck were bare, and glittered with gems. Her face was flushed with triumph; her black eyes shone with a perfect self-content.
The bridal pair took their places before the altar, and the clergyman and his assistants began their office. The usual questions were asked and answered; the usual appeal made to any one who knew “any just cause or impediment why these two should not be united,” but which, of course, received no response; and her third marriage ring was slipped upon Lady Wynde’s finger, and for the third time she was a wife.
If any regret mingled with her present happiness, it was that by her third marriage she lost the title her second alliance had conferred upon her. But as there was a prospect that Craven Black would inherit a title some day, and that she would then be a peeress, she easily contented herself with her present untitled condition.
After the ceremony, the newly married pair proceeded to the vestry and signed the marriage register. Friends and curious acquaintances thronged in upon them with congratulations, and soon after, when the church bell began peeling merrily, the bride and groom reentered their carriage, and drove home to Hawkhurst.
Neva and Rufus Black followed in the second carriage.
The guests invited to the wedding breakfast entered their carriages, and followed in the wake of the bridal pair.
The villagers and tenants, in a great, straggling crowd, proceeded on foot along the dusty road, to take their part in the out-door festivities.
A magnificent green arch had been erected over the great gates, with the monogram of the bride and groom curiously intertwisted, and lettered in red roses upon the green ground. Three similar arches intersected at regular distances the long avenue. The marble terrace was bordered with orange trees, oleanders, lemon-trees, and tropical shrubs, all in wooden tubs, and the front porch was a very bower of myrtles and red roses.