"He looked like a little angel," said Esther, as she threw herself into Dot's sympathetic arms.
A few miles from Sidon there stood an old church, dim with memories, in a churchyard mossy with many graves. It was hither some few hours after that unwonted carriages were driving through the snow of that happy winter's day. In one of them Esther and Henry were sitting,--Esther apparelled in--but here the local papers shall speak for us: "The bride," it said, "was attired in a dress of grey velvet trimmed with beaver, and a large picturesque hat with feathers to match; she carried a bouquet of white chrysanthemums and hyacinths."
"The very earth has put on white to be your bridesmaid!" said Henry, looking out on the sunlit snow.
"After all, though, of course, I'm sad in one way," said Esther, more practical in her felicitations, "I'm glad in another that father wouldn't give me away. For it was really you who gave me to Mike long ago; wasn't it?--and so it's only as it should be that you should give me to him to-day."
"You'll never forget what we've been to each other?"
"Don't you know?"
"Yes, but our love has no organs and presents and prayer-books to bind it together."
"Do you think it needs it?"
"Of course not! But it would be fun for us too some day to have a marriage. Why should only one kind of love have its marriage ceremony? When Mike's and your wedding is over, let's tell him that we're going to send out cards for ours!"
"All right. What form shall the ceremony take--Parfait Amour?"