The market-place was filled with the market people and with the townspeople who came to buy. I pushed across, stepping over a basket, and jostled by a woman with poultry and vegetables. It was, however, seven or eight minutes past six when I arrived at the church; the doors of the south porch were open. Within I heard the sound of voices—or, at least, of one voice. I looked in.
Heavens! What had happened? Not only was I late with my letter, but—but—could I believe my eyes? Molly herself stood before the altar; facing her was Lord Fylingdale, who held her hand. Within the rails stood the Reverend Benjamin Purdon; beside him, the clerk, to make the responses. And the minister, when I arrived, was actually saying the words which the bridegroom repeats after the minister, completing in effect the marriage ceremony.
"I, Ludovick, take thee, Mary, to my wedded wife …" and so on according to the form prescribed. And again, the words beginning—
"With this ring I thee wed…."
I stood and listened, lost in wonder.
Then came the prayer prescribed. After which the clergyman joined their hands together, saying:—
"Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder."
I heard no more. I sat down on the nearest bench. What was the meaning of this sudden change? Remember that I had left Molly only a few hours before this, fully resolved that she would demand an inquiry into the statements and charges made in the two letters; resolved that she would not keep that engagement; her admiration for the proud, brave, noble creature, her lover, turned into loathing.
And now—now, in the early morning, with her letter in my pocket stating her change of purpose—I found her at the altar, and actually married.
"Whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder."