There was in this muscular daughter of the forest (she was born in a cabin in the woods) a gentle womanliness that was charming. As the hour drew near when she would give up her maiden name and freedom, she thought Time surely ought to go more slowly. He had taken his ease from Sunday until now, though she, running ahead, had pulled him along; but now, when only one short hour of her maidenhood was left, the contrary old fellow would run.
She blushed when, all too soon, she saw her promised husband enter the grove; and when he took her hand it trembled.
"What, Lizzī, not scared by the dark?"
The pressure he gave her hand and the light laugh that followed his words corrected their impression, and the sharp pain they caused was soothed by the knowledge that he really understood.
"What if it had been some other man going through the grove?" he asked.
"Then my hand wouldn't have shook."
It was the coming of the bridegroom that made her heart beat more quickly and her hand unsteady.
Gill repaid her for the pretty compliment with a kiss. Then they approached the church, which was wrapped in darkness.
Jim Harker, sexton and squire, had put out the lights after prayer-meeting was dismissed, and closed the shutters. Inside the church he was waiting.
Lizzī hesitated when, in answer to Gill's knock, the door was thrown open and she saw that the church was dark.