|A profuse breakfast, served in the good old style, awaited them in the
dining-room. The sideboard groaned with the weight of huge cold joints,
hams, tongues, and pasties; and broiled trout and salmon in abundance
appeared on the table. How many good things there were besides in the
shape of cutlets and omelettes, we cannot tell, but nothing seemed
wanting. Chocolate was handed to the ladies, but claret suited the
gentlemen best, though in some instances a flagon of strong ale was
preferred.
Breakfast over, the ladies withdrew to prepare for the ceremony
appointed to take place in the chapel, while the prince again walked
forth on the terrace, in company with Lord Derwentwater and Sir John
Webb, and gazed with fresh delight at the prospect.
Colonel Oxburgh and his companions, with Tom Forster, adjourned to
the stables. There was a good deal of conjecture among them as to the
prince's plans, which now seemed quite undecided; but they came to the
conclusion that no rising would take place. At the same time, they all
rejoiced that the hazardous--and as they deemed it useless--journey to
London had been abandoned.
“Something ought to be done,” cried Forster. “But it puzzles me to say
what.”
“Have patience,” said Colonel Oxbugh. “Depend upon it we shan't remain
long idle. His majesty will be forced to make a move of some kind.”
Long before the hour appointed for the betrothal, the little chapel was
filled. All the household craved permission to witness the ceremony, and
none were refused. The guests entered at the same time, and found places
where they could. But little room was left, as may be imagined, when all
these persons were accommodated. In the large pew were the prince with
Charles Radclyffe, Mr. Forster and his sister--the latter looking bright
and blooming as usual.
Lord Derwentwater was standing at the door of the little edifice in
momentary expectation of the arrival of her to whom he was about to be
affianced. She came, leaning on her father's arm, and attended by her
mother--not decked in bridal attire--not draped in a bridal veil--for
such adornments would have been unsuitable to the occasion, but arrayed
in a charming costume of azure satin and lace.
After salutations had passed, Sir John Webb consigned his lovely
daughter to the earl, and followed them with Lady Webb.
An irrepressible murmur of admiration burst forth as the youthful pair
moved towards the altar, where they immediately knelt down, and a group
was formed behind them of which the prince was the principal figure--his
highness having come with the others from the pew.
Not till a prayer was recited could the spectators obtain a glimpse of
the scene at the altar, and if this was quickly hidden from their sight
they heard the vow pronounced that bound the pair together, and they
likewise heard Father Norham's benediction.
Those near the altar saw the earl embrace his affianced bride as they
rose together, and some of them remarked that she looked strangely pale.
Only for a minute, for her colour quickly returned. The prince, however,
noticed the circumstance, and so did Dorothy. But both attributed it to
deep emotion.
Nothing whatever marred the ceremony, the sole fault of which, in the
opinion of the majority of those present, was that it was too brief.
Several of the household grouped themselves on either side of the path
leading to the gate to offer their good wishes to the newly-affianced
pair as they passed by. Among these were old Nicholas Ribbleton, and an
elderly dame who, like himself, had lived in the family for years.
“Eh! she's a bonnie lass!” cried this old woman, after scrutinising her
sharply. “But I doubt if she'll make his lordship happy. He had better
have chosen Dorothy F orster.”
“Why, what ails her?” said Ribbleton.
“I cannot exactly tell--but there's a look about her I don't like.”
“Well, it's too late to change now, Grace,” observed Ribbleton. “The
troth is plighted.”
“Ay, that's the worst of it,” rejoined the old woman. “But a time may
come, when his lordship will wish what's done were undone.”
This was the only discordant note uttered, and it reached no other ear
but Ribbleton's, and him it made angry. So he walked off, and left the
old prophetess of ill to herself.