My survey was the result of a few rapid glances, and I recurred to the parties. The amazement was just at its height, yet strange to say the only one who stood there unmoved, and with no greater indication of internal disturbance than a cast-down eye, overshaded by its long lashes, was Elizabeth Gorman. That she understood the object of my visit, I had no doubt; nor was I surprised that a creature of her nerve, capable of what she had done, should stand before me in the midst of all her friends, and in the presence of her intended husband, as immoveable as a lump of white marble—no additional paleness, no quiver of the lip, no hairbrained glances of fear.
“And who are you?” at last cried the souter futur; “you are not invited.”
“No; I have taken the liberty to come uninvited,” replied I, as I threw my eye over the body of the young snab arrayed in absolute perfection, from the glossy cravat to the shining boots, so spruce and smart that the taste of Elizabeth must have been at the work of preparation. Nor was he without some right, if one might judge of the number of houses laid under contribution for a dowry which was to be his, and by the help of which he was to become a master.
Whereupon there arose a perfect Babel of voices—“No right;” “M‘Levy has no right here;” “Turn him out.” To all this I paid little attention; I was more curious about a movement on the part of Elizabeth, whose right hand was apparently fumbling about her pocket. A pocket in a bride’s dress!—ay, just so. Elizabeth Gorman was a bride of a peculiar kind; she had a pocket even as a part of her bridal apparel, and there was more there than a cambric handkerchief.
“I will help you to get out your napkin, Elizabeth,” said I.
And putting my hand into the sacred deposit, I pulled out two check-keys.
With these two keys, she had opened (I speak in anticipation) the whole sixteen houses. I managed this movement in such a manner that I believe no one could know what I abstracted except Elizabeth herself, who seemed to care no more for the discovery than she had as yet done for any part of the ceremony.
“And the orange blossom,” said I, “I have a fancy for this too,” I said, as I, very gently I hope, took off the wreath, and, in spite of the necessary crumpling of so expressive an emblem of bliss, put it in my pocket.
The hubbub was now general, and Crispin thinking that his honour was touched, waxed magniloquent. He even put himself into a fighting attitude, and sparred away with all the valour of a gentleman called upon to protect injured innocence. Nor Dowsabell, nor Dulcinea, nor any other heroine of romance, had ever so formidable a champion; but then I did not choose to take up the snab’s gage. I contented myself with stepping between one or two of the guests to the window, gave two or three knocks, and then took up my station by the side of Elizabeth. The door opened, and in came my assistant.
“I choose to claim this young woman for my bride,” I said, with a little of an inward chuckle. “I will dispose of her property; meanwhile, all of you leave the room. Clear-out, officer,” I added, as they seemed to loiter and murmur.