Then he took out his handkerchief and mopped his eyes.
"Dear me, what an old fool I am!" he muttered, in parenthesis.
Chairs were immediately placed for the engaged couple, amid boisterous cheering and banter from all the members of the club at once, whilst the bride elect laughed, blushed, and looked very happy. The father and mother of the bride next entered, and joined in the general hubbub.
Of course, this was too great an event not to be celebrated with all due honours. Therefore Mr. Oldstone proposed that they should all meet once again that evening round the steaming punch-bowl; Helen and her parents being also of the company.
"Just to drink to the health of the bride elect," explained Mr. Oldstone with an appealing look towards Dr. Bleedem. And it was so.
That the bride's health was drunk that evening with a "Hip, hip, hurrah!" goes without saying. How Mr. McGuilp started on the morrow for town on business connected with his approaching marriage; his return; his sojourn at the "Headless Lady" until the grand event came off; how he occupied his spare time partly in painting a portrait of his friend Mr. Oldstone, which was followed in due time by portraits of his future father and mother-in-law, and in imparting instruction to his fair bride; likewise, how, when unavoidably absent on business, Mr. Oldstone would enact the rôle of instructor to the fair bride of his protégé, so that no time should be lost in fitting her for her exalted station; how Helen improved daily in intelligence and knowledge under such careful tuition, are matters of history.
All unpleasant experiences of the past had been forgotten in the joy attending the great approaching event.
Coffins had been made for the bodies of the two malefactors. The corpse of Lord Scampford had been placed in his lordship's carriage and driven by his coachman (whose shoulder blade was now quite well), and accompanied by his footman to London, where it was consigned to the family vault of the Scampfords, while that of his partner in crime filled a nameless grave in a corner of the old churchyard at Littleboro'.
Some procrastination and unexpected delays would occur, however, in spite of all our hero could do to hurry on the event, for we know that "the course of true love never did run smooth," but at length the happy day arrived. How merrily pealed the bells from the ruined tower of the picturesque old parish church of Littleboro' on that sunny morn! How gay the peasantry looked in their holiday attire! Proud, indeed, were our host and hostess as a splendid equipage with coachman and footman, each adorned with a huge nosegay, drove up to the door of the "Headless Lady" to convey the fair bride, who was attired in the most approved fashion of the period, and accompanied by her father and mother, both clad in gala, to the church.
How the yokels did gape as they recognised in the magnificently attired bride poor Nell Hearty, maid of the inn at the cross roads, whom they had seen full oft to feed the pigs, milk the cows, scrub the steps, wash and hang out the clothes, and who had served them with many a pint of her father's home brewed ale. It was a thing not well understood—had no right to be, doubtless they thought. The little church was crammed. Needless to say that every member of the Wonder Club was present, and, lo, here comes the vicar of Littleboro', that aged and somewhat infirm cleric of benevolent aspect, and all the aristocracy of the place.