No signs of the widow.
One minute still remained.
The time was very long.
I took out my watch a half-dozen times, to hasten its progress. I shook it impatiently to make it go faster. The great empty church looked cold and lonely. The little group of spectators only added to the loneliness of the scene. An occasional cough resounded harshly amid the universal stillness. The sibilant sounds of whispers struck sharply and unpleasantly upon the ear.
At last the minute passed.
I began to think my watch was wrong; but no—for suddenly, from the great bell above, in the church-tower, there tolled out the first stroke of the hour. And between each stroke there seemed o long, long interval, in which the mind had leisure to turn over and over all the peculiarities of this situation.
ONE! I counted.
[No widow. What's up? Did any one ever hear of a bride missing the hour, or delaying in this way?]
TWO!
[What a humbug of a woman! She has cultivated procrastination all her life, and this is the result]