"I will," was again the response, issuing sweetly but firmly from lips that would not tremble, although the tone brought tears to more than one pair of eyes fixed upon her as she spoke.
The ceremony and congratulations were soon over. Then the bride, on the arm of her husband, led the way down the aisle, while the tones of the Wedding March filled Grand Old Westminster to its furthest limits.
November days in London have not changed much in a century of years, although perhaps the opacity of the air was more penetrating in 1813 than it is to-day; for when the bridal party passed through the Abbey archway to the street, the mist of the early morning had developed into a dense fog, rapidly closing over the city. Hence, the coachmen had to pilot the way to almost invisible carriages, and then lead their horses in a tramp of several miles over the return journey, through almost deserted streets.
"My darling, mine at last," whispered the young man as he clasped his bride in his arms under cover of the closed carriage and dense atmosphere.
"Yes, Harold, yours forever," was the response; and with their first long kiss they sealed their marriage vows.
"Too bad to need such a wedding-day as this!" he exclaimed, looking fondly into her eyes, and then through the carriage window into the opaque street.
"And yet how fortunate that it is so," she answered with a little ripple of laughter.
"My sweet philosopher! Once in the Abbey, I never thought of it again."
"But I did. I looked all round and there was not a single visitor, only our own party, the clergyman, the organist, and the little, old-fashioned clerk."
"'Pon my word, Helen, I don't believe I saw anyone but you, from the moment we went in until we came out again."