Grace's brown velvet bonnet, brown silk dress, and seal jacket were not exactly the prescribed attire for a bride; but with the hazel hair, smooth and shining, and the hazel eyes full of happy light, Grace looked very sweet and fair.
Eeny, in pale silk and a pretty hat with a long white plume, looked fair as a lily and happy as a queen, and very proud of her post of bride-maid.
And Kate, who was carrying her cross bravely now, very simply attired, sat beside Doctor Frank and tried to listen and be interested in what he was saying, and all the time feeling like one in some unnatural dream. She saw the dull, gray, sunless sky, speaking of coming storm, the desolate snow-covered fields, the quiet village, and the little church, with its tall spire and glittering cross. She saw it all in a vague, lost sort of way, and was in the church and seated in a pew, and listening and looking on, like a person walking in her sleep. Her father going to be married! How strange and unnatural it seemed. She had never grown familiarized with the idea, perhaps because she would never indulge it, and now he was kneeling on the altar steps, with Frank Danton beside him, and Eeny at Grace's left hand, and the Curé and Father Francis were there in stole and surplice, and the ceremony was going on. She saw the ring put on Grace's finger, she heard the Curé's French accented voice, "Henry Danton, wilt thou have Grace Danton to be thy wedded wife?" and that firm, clear "I will," in reply.
Then it was all over; they were married. Her pale face drooped on the front rail of the pew, and wet it with a rain of hot tears.
The wedding quartet were going into the sacristy to register their names. She could linger no longer, although she felt as if she would like to stay there and die, so she arose and went wearily after. Her father looked at her with anxious, imploring eyes; she went up and kissed him, with a smile on her colourless face.
"I hope you will be very happy, papa," she whispered.
And then she turned to Grace, and touched her cold lips to the bride's flushed cheek.
"I wish you very much happiness, Mrs. Danton," she said.
Yes, she could never be mother—she was only Mrs. Danton, her father's wife; but Father Francis gave her a kindly, approving glance, even for this. She turned away from him with a weary sigh. Oh, what trouble and mockery everything was? What a dreary, wretched piece of business life was altogether! The sense of loneliness and desolation weighed on her heart, this dull December morning, like lead.
There was to be a wedding-breakfast, but the Curé, and Father Francis, and Doctor Frank were the only guests.