Every one loved her; she had grown-up amongst them from childhood; she had gone in and out amongst them as a friend, and they were loth to part with her. But on her wedding-day, they must not think of that; she must see none but bright faces. Old Mary had hobbled on her stick all the way from Seatoller; Sarah Grisedale had come down from the mountains, and had waited an hour in the churchyard before the time of the wedding; and many another whom Marjorie had cheered and comforted was to be found in the little church, to pray for a blessing on the fair young bride.
The wedding was by licence; and the Vicar, at the bridegroom's dictation, had filled up the required information in the register before the arrival of the bridal party. Only two people knew what name was written there, above the name of Marjorie Douglas. The clergyman knew, of course, for he had written the words; and Mrs. Douglas knew. Kenneth had told her the night before. Marjorie herself had no idea, as yet, of the future that lay before her, or of the name which would that day become hers.
It was a very pretty though quiet wedding; and as Mrs. Douglas heard Kenneth's manly voice saying, in tones of deepest feeling:
"I, Kenneth, take thee, Marjorie, to my wedded wife," she felt that she was giving her child to one whom she could fully trust, one who was not only a kind and honourable man, but who was, above all things, a true servant of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Then came the signing of the names in the marriage registers. Mrs. Douglas was talking to Marjorie whilst Kenneth signed both books, and then the clergyman called her to write her name below. He had placed the blotting-paper over the upper line on which Kenneth's name stood.
"Do you mind leaving it there, Marjorie?" he said. "I am very particular about the neatness of my registers, and the lace on your sleeve may blot it."
Marjorie laughed, and wrote her name without removing the blotting-paper which covered the entry above. Then the books were closed, and the bridal party drove to Fernbank, amidst the cheers and good wishes of the villagers.
About an hour afterwards, Colonel Verner's carriage stood at the gate, waiting to convey the bride and bridegroom to Keswick station, and Kenneth and Marjorie came down the pretty garden, followed by the whole family, including good old Dorcas. Then the last good-byes were said, and they drove off; but at the bridge Kenneth stopped the carriage; he had forgotten his stick, he said.
He soon returned with it; but Marjorie did not know that he had purposely left it behind, in order that he might be able to slip a small envelope into her mother's hand. And when Mrs. Douglas opened it, after the carriage had driven away, she found that it contained a cheque for four thousand pounds.
The honeymoon was not to be a long one; only a fortnight in Scotland amidst the beauties of the Northern Highlands. Kenneth was anxious to get back to Eagleton, for he had much to arrange there, and Marjorie was eager to see her new home.