Answering the violent ringing of a bell, the maid of Miss Gansevoort made her appearance.
“Is my daughter ready?” inquired Col. G.
“Please, sir,” responded the maid, “Miss Ellen is in a dreadful way. She pulls out the roses—”
“A curse upon the roses!” exclaimed the other. “Fling them into the fire, and see that she is dressed and in the adjoining parlor within ten minutes.”
“If you please, sir, she is almost ready now. Every few minutes she gets faint-like, and then we go on.”
Entirely unmoved by this statement, Bender deliberately finished, and laid upon the table a neatly embossed marriage certificate, ready for signature.
“Your priest can be depended on, I hope, Sir Philip?” inquired Col. Gansevoort.
The other smiled as he slowly replied, “Doctor Felton owed his appointment as navy chaplain to me, ten years ago, at a time when he had not lost more than half of his faculties. His sight is dim now at the best, and in a judiciously darkened room, will be found all that can be desired; and as to hearing, he has laid no claim to the use of that organ within my memory. But even were both senses perfect, I do not think he would either see or hear more than I desire.”
Scarcely had he finished speaking when the clergyman was announced. His appearance fully justified the eulogy which had just been pronounced upon him. Of bulky form, and rubicund face, he shuffled with unsteady gait into the room, and with attempted gayety, but in a husky and scarcely audible voice, replied to the salutation of his patron.
“You may find my daughter a little eccentric in her conduct,” said Colonel Gansevoort, after being introduced to the priest. “She is young and romantic. It will not be necessary that you should take any particular notice of these things.”