Wheels again, and louder cheers than ever; a rolling scattering volley
from a hundred young throats.
"Here he is then, now," said some one. "The Vinings are so popular!"
More bustle, and pressing, and confusion; the steps round the font
invaded, and two small boys mounted on the stove to get a good view,
while no one interrupts them; the organ-gallery crammed as it never was
on Sundays; and the organist hard put to it to keep people from invading
his own little sanctum behind the red curtains, and treading upon the
pedal keys.
The boy at the bellows has already pumped the wind-chest full, and there
is a wheezing sound of escaping air. But the excitement down below is
now at its height, and a murmur of admiration is heard as pudgy Mr
Bray, hat in hand, leads in Laura--proud, sweeping, stately, and with
her eyes cast down, but her head thrown back.
No modest retiring bride she, though the lids do droop and the long
black fringes conceal the dark flashing eyes. For she has arrived at
the moment of her triumph, and there is a curl to her upper lip as she
leads, rather than is led, and passes between scores of the envious.
The chosen one of Charles Vining of Blandfield, the heir to the old
baronetcy, Laura knows that there is many a one present who would give
ten years of her life to exchange places--to become the future Lady
Vining, the leader of the society of the district for miles round. How
could she think of the past, when so bright a future was before her?
How could she trouble now about forebodings and shadows of coming evil?
All were forgotten as she swept down the long nave, each moment more
queenly of aspect.
The chancel screen was passed, and the chancel entered--the chancel
filled with friends, who smilingly part to allow her to pass to where
the invited hedge-in the bridesmaids--a light and cloudy bevy of eight,
all white and pale blue, and pale blue fading into white. Dainty
forget-me-nots hidden here by lace, or peeping out there from amidst
transparent tissue, while every cheek is tinged with the bright
damask-rose hue of excitement. The flowers in the bouquets tell tales
of the hands that hold, for they tremble and nod; and more than one of
those white-gloved hands has drawn out the end of a delicately-scented
and laced pocket-handkerchief, so as to have it ready for the tears that
will be sure to flow anon; but for a moment the tears, are forgotten, as
the bride appears.
"Are you ready?" whispers a voice; and the horribly incongruous-looking
clerk comes bustling out of the vestry as the smiling pew-opener dabs
the hassocks about, and then smoothes herself down and smirks at
everybody, as she wonders how much the wedding will be worth to her.
"Shall I tell them to come?" says the clerk again, smiling so that you
can see the two yellow teeth in his top jaw, and the one and a half
below. "They're waiting to come and begin."
These remarks of course relate to the clergymen in the vestry, who are
warming their boot-toes as they stand in front of the fire, like three
shut out ghosts, and discuss the amount of the Vinings' fortune, and
talk of Laura Bray's lucky hit. But as the questions are put in a
general fashion by the clerk, no one conceives it to be his duty to
answer, and consequently there is a dead silence; and now Laura feels,
as it were, an icy hand slowly passing towards that heavily-throbbing
heart of hers, nearer and nearer, as if about to clutch it, only holding
off for a few moments to add to her torture in that dreadful pause,
broken at length by an ominous whisper that runs through the length and
breadth of the church:
"_Where is the bridegroom_?"
That pause must have lasted some thirty seconds; but to those in waiting
it seemed an hour. Laura's eyes were not cast down, but flashing
fiercely, and the hand at her heart--the icy cold hand--now moved as if
to clutch it, when she drew a long sighing breath of relief; for though
hurt at the apparent neglect, she was once more elate and proud; for a
voice at the entry was heard to cry, "Here they come!" and overbearing
the whispers of the expectant crowd could be heard the rapid beat of
galloping horses and the whirl of wheels.
"They're a-coming down the road as hard as ever they can gallop,"
whispered a man at one of the windows which commanded the way to
Blandfield.
"But is it them?" said another aloud.
"Them! Of course it is; chariot and four; blue and silver. And, my
word, how they are going it!"
It was an insult, certainly, his not being there in time--a cruel insult
to his bride-elect; but Laura would forgive anything, for he had much to
forgive in her, she whispered to herself.
"It's all right," said Mr Bray, nervously looking at his watch.
"Blandfield time is always correct; but this church-clock is a perfect
disgrace, although we are so foolish as to set our watches by it. Here
he is, though!"
Cheering from the boys; galloping horses; whirring wheels, and a rapid
rattling rush; and a chariot and four had dashed past the church-gates,
and away down the High-street of Lexville, as fast as four well-bred
horses could tear.
Away it went, swaying from side to side on its springs, faster and
faster as the horses warmed to their work; and those nearer to the door
ran out into the churchyard.
"They've taken fright and run away!"
"The horses were too fresh; they've done no work lately."
"Why didn't they have post-horses from the Lion?"
"Sir Philip and Master Charles were both in it!"
"They weren't: there was only one."
"I tell you the chariot was empty."
"Them two grooms have been at the 'all ale, that's about it."
"The carriage must be smashed!"
Remarks in a perfect, or rather imperfect, chaos jumbled one another as
opinions were passed. But at last the news was taken to where, with the
icy hand now clutching her heart, stood Laura, not fainting, but stern,
pale, and erect, that there was nothing to fear, the grooms had
evidently been drinking, and the horses had taken fright, but that the
chariot was empty.
"Yes, yes, it's all right. Here they come!" cried a voice at the door;
and two bridesmaids about to faint, refrained--"here's the barouche, and
one, two--yes, there's four inside."
And once more there was a buzz of expectation. Such an accident
couldn't have been helped, of course; horses would be restive sometimes,
but it _was_ hard on the poor bride. But, all the same, those who took
more interest in the smashing of a carriage than the linking together of
hearts, set off at a brisk run down the High-street.
Volume 3, Chapter IX.