"Very well. Now don't ask me a question; don't say a word to me. There is to be a wedding to-morrow at St. Martin's Church, Georges Street. Her wedding. You attend it. Don't fail. You shall have her. I, Tommy, your little tramp friend, will make her your wife; but—oh, Bennie, Bennie—" and frantically throwing his arm's around Ben's neck, he kissed our hero's lips, and breaking from him, rushed away.
Long, Ben sat, lost in astonishment. Stupefied. Then he slowly made his way back to his hotel.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
IN AT THE DEATH.
St. Martin's Church did not wear a very festival appearance. It looks more like a funeral than a marriage, that is about to take place, said Ben to himself, as he quietly entered that edifice on the following morning and seated himself in the dark corner of a dark pew, where he could observe what transpired without being himself noticed.
A few idlers, evidently people who seeing a church door open thought it as good a place to sit down and rest as any that would offer, dropped in and sat in the rear seats. One had several bundles, evidently a clerk taking a purchase to the home of a customer who sought the opportunity to rest his arms and legs among the cushions of St. Martin's. Some well dressed people, probably strangers in the city, sat in respectful silence while they examined the edifice with their eyes. A country couple chatted pleasantly together, and now and then indulged in a little laugh, followed by a great deal of whispering. Near them a man sat down with a large paper of peanuts, which he was contentedly devouring when the sexton politely suggested that he either put them up or swallow the shells.
It was evidently to be a private affair. The church was dark and gloomy, and only the shutters of the chancel windows were opened, throwing a faint, mysterious light upon the long queer-looking line of empty pews.
Presently the officiating minister entered the chancel from a door in the rear, clothed in his long white surplice, and sat down while his eyes investigated the inside of a prayer-book, and kept glancing over the top of it and down the main aisle as though impatient for their coming. Then the sound of wheels were heard without, the organ startled those within by breaking out in a peal of sacred melody, and through the open doors came the bridal party. Bertha leaned on the arm of her uncle. She was dressed richly, but quietly, in a travelling suit, as though the intention was to commence the wedding tour at the chancel railing. She was very, very pale, and the great, glorious, grey eyes seemed to cover her whole face, and looked black in their intensity. But her head was erect and her step firm. She knew what she was doing, she had counted the cost. She was accepting a lifetime of misery that she might give a home to those she loved. Ben's breath came short and thick, and his hands worked nervously as his eyes were fastened upon her. An elderly lady, the aunt of Miss Ford, was brought in on the arm of Arthur Blackoat. Blackoat looked triumphant. He was a trifle pale, and his swarthy countenance in the dim light looked sallow. But his dark eye flashed out the "success" that was crowning his desires, and he looked impatient for the ceremony to proceed. A dozen ladies and gentlemen, friends of the Brasters, had entered the church with them, and among them Ben was surprised to see none other than Mr. Jonah Nipper, in company with a very well dressed dignified gentleman of middle age. These two sat a little apart from the rest.
Presently Bertha Ford and Arthur Blackoat stood at the chancel railing alone and the beautiful marriage service of the Episcopal Church was commenced by the officiating clergyman.
Ben could hardly comprehend what was taking place; could hardly realize that the woman he so adored was being every moment separated farther and farther from him by a chasm that could never be bridged over for his hopes to cross on. Then his ears caught the solemn words: