“How quiet it’s become; everyone has stopped talking,” whispered Mabel, in Dorothy’s ear.
“How peculiarly they are all staring! But of course it must be exciting just before the bride appears,” murmured Dorothy, in answer.
“Oh, there comes the bride!” cried Mabel. “Isn’t she sweet!”
“It’s a stunt to trail downstairs that way—like a summer breeze. How beautifully gauzy she looks!” sighed Dorothy.
The eyes of the guests were turned half in wonder toward the old chimney place, and half smilingly toward the bride. On came the bride, tall and slender and leaning gracefully on her father’s arm, straight toward the tall mantel in the chimney place, which was lavishly banked with palms and flowers, and the minister began reading the ceremony.
“Hey! Let go there!” Ned’s muffled voice floated above the heads of the wedding guests, who stood aghast.
“You’re stuck all right, old chap,” came the consoling voice of Nat in a ghostly whisper.
Sounds of half-smothered, weird laughter—or so the laughter seemed to the guests—filled the air. The bridegroom flushed and looked quickly at his bride, who clung to her father’s arm, pale with fright. The minister alone was calm.
As the bridegroom’s clear answer: “I will” came to the ears of Dorothy and Mabel out on the porch, a creepy sound issued from the great fireplace. The newly-made husband kissed his bride, and the guests moved back.
Dorothy leaned eagerly forward to catch a glimpse of the radiantly smiling bride. Just then a tall palm wavered, fell to the floor with a crash, and in falling, carried vases and jars of flowers with it, and the ghostly laughter could be plainly heard by all.