Burrell understood not how superior was Constance in every respect, either to his pity or his praise.
Exactly as the clock struck six, the doors at the bottom of the room were thrown open, and Lady Frances Cromwell entered with her friend; Barbara and the waiting-maidens of Lady Frances followed; but nothing could exceed Burrell's displeasure and mortification, when he perceived that his bride was habited in the deepest mourning. Her hair, braided from her brow, hung in long and luxuriant tresses down her back, and were only confined by a fillet of jet. Upon her head was a veil of black gauze, that fell over her entire figure; and her dress was of black Lucca silk, hemmed and bordered with crape. She advanced steadily to her father, without noticing her bridegroom, and, throwing up her veil, said, in a low voice,—
"Father, I am ready."
Burrell, who feared that even in the very brief space which now remained, Sir Robert would betray the weakness of his mind, stepped forward, and would have taken her hand; but she put him from her, with a single gesture, saying,—
"Not yet, sir, I am still all my father's.—Father, I am ready."
It was pitiable to see the vacant eye which Sir Robert fixed upon her pale, fine face, and most painful to observe the look of anxious inquiry with which she regarded him.
"Dear father," she exclaimed at length, sinking on her knees, "dear father, speak to me."
The gesture and the voice recalled him for a little to himself. He kissed her cheek affectionately, and, rising with much of the dignity of former years, pressed her to his bosom.
"Forgive me, child;—my Lady Frances, I crave your pardon—I am myself again—I was a trifle indisposed, but it is over. Fill me some wine," he commanded to the attendants, who gathered in the doorway—"Yes—up—full—more full; I drink—" he continued, with a gaiety of manner suiting ill with his grey hairs and pallid face—"I drink to the happiness and prosperity of my daughter and her bridegroom!" He quaffed to the bottom of the cup, then flung it from him.
"Now go we to the bridal," he said, leading Constantia forward, while Sir Willmott conducted Lady Frances, who hardly condescended to touch the hand he presented to her. As they passed an open court, leading to the little chapel, Sir Robert stopped abruptly, and addressing his daughter, said,—