There were more than a few lookers-on to see Katy Lennox married, and the church was literally jammed for full three-quarters of an hour before the appointed time. Back by the door, where she commanded a full view of the middle aisle, Marian Hazelton sat, her face as white as ashes, and her eyes gleaming strangely wild from beneath the thickly dotted veil she wore over her hat. Doubts as to her wisdom in coming there were agitating her mind, but something kept her sitting just as others sat waiting for the bride until the sexton, opening wide the doors, and assuming an added air of consequence, told the anxious spectators that the party had arrived—Uncle Ephraim and Katy, Wilford and Mrs. Lennox, Dr. Morris and Helen, Aunt Hannah and Aunt Betsy—that was all, and they came slowly up the aisle, while countless eyes were turned upon them, every woman noticing Katy’s dress sweeping the carpet with so long a trail, and knowing by some queer female instinct that it was city-made, and not the handiwork of Marian Hazelton, panting for breath in that pew near the door, and trying to forget herself by watching Dr. Grant. She could not have told what Katy wore; she would not have sworn that Katy was there, for she saw only two, Wilford and Morris Grant. She could have touched the former as he passed her by, and she did breathe the odor of his garments while her hands clasped each other tightly, and then she turned to Morris Grant, growing content with her own pain, so much less than his as he stood before the altar with Wilford Cameron between him and the bride which should have been his. How pretty she was in her wedding garb, and how like a bird her voice rang out as she responded to the solemn question,
“Will you have this man to be thy wedded husband,” etc.
Upon Uncle Ephraim devolved the duty of giving her away, a thing which Aunt Betsy denounced as a “’Piscopal quirk,” classing it in the same category with dancing. Still if Ephraim had got it to do she wanted him to do it well, and she had taken some pains to study that part of the ceremony, so as to know when to, nudge her brother in case he failed of coming up to time.
“Now, Ephraim, now; they’ve reached the quirk,” she whispered, audibly, almost before Katy’s “I will” was heard, clear and distinct; but Ephraim did not need her prompting, and his hand rested lovingly upon Katy’s shoulder as he signified his consent, and then fell back to his place next to Hannah. But when Wilford’s voice said, “I, Wilford, take thee Katy to be my wedded wife,” there was a slight confusion near the door, and those sitting by said to those in front that some one had fainted. Looking round, the audience saw the sexton leading Marian Hazelton out into the open air, where, at her request, he left her, and went back to see the closing of the ceremony which made Katy Lennox a wife. Morris’s carriage was at the door, and the newly married pair moved slowly out, Katy smiling upon all, kissing her hand to some and whispering a good-bye to others, her diamonds flashing in the light and her rich silk rustling as she walked, while at her side was Wilford, proudly erect, and holding his head so high as not to see one of the crowd around him, until, arrived at the vestibule, he stopped a moment and was seized by a young man with curling hair, saucy eyes, and that air of ease and assurance which betokens high breeding and wealth.
“Mark Ray!” was Wilford’s astonished exclamation, while Mark Ray replied,
“You did net expect to see me here, neither did I expect to come until last night, when I found myself in the little village where you know Scranton lives. Then it occurred to me that as Silverton was only a few miles distant I would drive over and surprise you, but I am too late for the ceremony, I see,” and Mark’s eyes rested admiringly upon Katy, whose graceful beauty was fully equal to what he had imagined.
Very modestly she received his congratulatory greeting, blushing prettily when he called her by the new name she had not heard before, and then, at a motion from Wilford, entered the carriage waiting for her. Close behind her came Morris and Helen, the former quite as much astonished at meeting Mark as Wilford had been. There was no time for conversation, and hurriedly introducing Helen as Miss Lennox, Morris followed her into the carriage with the bridal pair, and was driven to the depot, where they were joined by Mark, whose pleasant good-humored sallies did much towards making the parting more cheerful than it would otherwise have been. It was sad enough at the most, and Katy’s eyes were very red, while Wilford was beginning to look chagrined and impatient, when at last the train swept round the corner and the very last good-bye was said. Many of the village people were there to see Katy off, and in the crowd Mark had no means of distinguishing the Barlows from the others, except it were by the fond caresses given to the bride. Aunt Betsy he had observed from all the rest, both from the hanging of her pongee and the general quaintness of her attire, and thinking it just possible that it might be the lady of herrin’ bone memory, he touched Wilford’s arm as she passed them by, and said,
“Tell me, Will, quick, who is that woman in the poke bonnet and short, slim dress?”
Wilford was just then too much occupied in his efforts to rescue Katy from the crowd of plebeians who had seized upon her to hear his friends query, but Helen heard it, and with a cheek which crimsoned with anger, she replied,
“That, sir, is my aunt, Miss Betsy Barlow.”