"Poor old chap!" said Percy Guest, with a laugh. "Married? Looked as
if he was going to be hanged. Wonder whether I shall be as nervous and
upset if--if--I ought to say when--it comes off? No, not likely, bless
her. Might be all in a fidget to get it over for fear of a slip, but I
don't think I should look like that."
He was approaching the church as these ideas ran through his head, and a
glance at the clock showed him that he was half an hour too soon,
consequent upon being hurried off by his friend.
"What shall I do?" he thought. "No time to go anywhere else; I'll drop
in and hang about in the church as if I did not belong to the party."
Easier said than done. Already there was a little crowd collecting,
attracted by the carpet laid up the steps--a little gathering of the
people who always do attend weddings--those who wait till the bride
arrives and then hurry in to see the service, and those who, being in
charge of perambulators, keep entirely outside and block up pavement and
porch. Then, too, there were the customary maiden ladies, the officials
of the church, the bell ringers, the woman from the crossing at the
corner of the square in a clean apron, the butchers', bakers', and
fishmongers' boys, and the children--especially those in a top-heavy
condition from carrying other children, nearly as big as themselves.
Percy Guest was conscious of a whisper and a buzzing sound as he walked
through the gates in what he intended to be a nonchalant fashion, but
which proved to be very conscious, and then most conscious as a boy
cried:
"'Ere he is, Bill!"
Fortunately the church door was close at hand, but before he entered he
was aware that the turncock had joined the throng with three bright
instruments over his shoulder, as if his services were likely to be
wanted toward the end.
Percy Guest breathed more freely as he stepped into the gloom of the
silent church, but was again disconcerted by the beadle in his best
gold-braided coat, holding open a green baize door and two pew openers
stepping forward apparently bent upon showing him the way up to the
chancel.
"Thanks: I'll just look round," he said carelessly; but the words did
not convey his meaning, and as he walked slowly into one of the side
aisles to study tablets and monuments, he could not read a word for
thinking that the two pew openers had seen through him.
"What a fool I am!" he muttered. "Of course they know. Even smell me.
Wish I hadn't used that scent."
An archaeologist could not have taken more apparent interest than he in
that tablet covered with lines of all lengths, setting forth the good
qualities of Robert Smith, "late of this parish," but the study was
accompanied by furtive glances at a watch during the longest quarter of
an hour the young man ever remembered to have spent.
But it ended at last.
"He'll soon be here now," he said to himself as, carrying his new hat
behind him, he made for another tablet nearer the chancel, while divers
whispers behind him told of pews being filled by those who wished to
have good places, and so another five minutes passed.
"Time he was here," thought the early arrival; and summoning his
fortitude ready for being stared at and commented upon, he walked
quietly toward the chancel, faced round, and waited, staring blankly at
the three or four score of faces watching him eagerly.
"Pleasant!" he said to himself. "Must be some of the friends here, but
how confoundedly awkward I do feel. I hate these quiet weddings.
Company's good, even if you're going to be hanged. Why isn't Stratton
here?"
There were fresh arrivals every minute, and Guest gazed anxiously now
toward the door, but the arrivals were all female; and save that the
clerk or verger was arranging cushions and books up by the communion
table, he was alone, and the centre upon which all eyes were fixed.
"I've done wrong," muttered Guest as he mastered a strong desire to look
at his watch, which he knew must now be within five minutes of the time.
"I ought to have gone back and brought him on. It's too bad to leave
me here like this."
If he could have taken out his handkerchief to have wiped the gathering
drops away from his temples he would not have cared so much, for they
produced a terrible itching sensation. But no; he must seem cool and
collected.
He was conscious now of talking somewhere behind him, in the vestry
evidently, a deep utterance suggestive of intoning a service, and a
harsh, sharp voice.
The clergyman and just then the clerk came down, passed close by, looked
at him, went and opened a pew door, and returned to approach him again
with a deprecative cough, as if he were about to speak, but he passed on
again, and went back into the vestry.
"Took me for the bridegroom," muttered Guest to himself. "Stratton, you
scoundrel, why don't you come? Oh! I'll pay you out for this."
At last! For a figure appeared at the other end of the church. No; it
turned into a pew half-way down the centre aisle, and Guest became cold
with apprehension as the organ began to peal forth its softest notes to
a hushed, shuddering bass, while Guest looked wildly down the church,
where, to his horror, there stood a figure in company with a tall,
sedate, grey-haired lady dressed in grey; and as these figures
approached he for a few moments forgot his agony in a long, rapt
contemplation of the bridesmaid's face.
Then he could bear it no longer, and he was about to rush out and go in
search of Stratton when he felt that it was too late, for already the
admiral was at the door with the bride, and Edie and Miss Jerrold were
at his side.
He gave Edie one quick glance full of agony, and then in a hurried
whisper to the admiral's sister:
"Miss Jerrold, for goodness' sake ask Sir Mark to step into the vestry.
Stratton has not come."
Too late--too late! The organ was still giving forth its introductory
strain; the two clergymen moved out of the vestry, and took their
places; Sir Mark and Myra were close up, and the clerk came forward and
signed to Guest to stand in the bridegroom's place.
Before he could think, the admiral's lips were close to his ear, and the
sharp whisper thrilled him as if it had been a roar.
"Where's Stratton?"
"I--he was to meet me--I--I'll go and see."
The words were stammered forth in a whisper, and no one better than he
felt how tame and paltry they sounded, while as, hat in hand, he hurried
down the aisle, running the gauntlet of a couple of hundred eyes, it
seemed as if they stung him, that the looks were more mocking than
wondering, while, raging with annoyance, the few yards felt lengthened
out into a mile.
Through the baize doors, and under the portico, but no sign of the
brougham with the pair of greys that was to bring the bridegroom.
What to do; jump into a hansom and bid the man gallop to Benchers' Inn?
It would take best part of an hour, and Stratton must be there directly.
He would wait and see, even if everyone in the crowd was staring at him
wonderingly, while the cold sweat stood out in big drops upon his face.
"What is the meaning of this?" said a stern voice at his elbow, and
Guest turned to face the admiral, whose florid countenance was mottled
with white.
A few words of explanation followed and then:
"I'll take a hansom and gallop off to his chambers."
"No," said Sir Mark in a low, hoarse voice. "An insult to my child! It
is atrocious!"
The old man turned and strode back, while, hardly knowing what he did,
Guest followed him between the two rows of curious faces to where Myra
stood, perfectly firm and self-contained, while Edie was trembling
visibly, and clinging to Miss Jerrold's arm.
As Sir Mark reached his daughter there was a loud whispering in the
church, which was suppressed by several hushes! as one of the clergymen
approached the wedding party, all present being eager to catch his words
as the _contretemps_ was now grasped.
"Will you step into the vestry for a few minutes? Some trifling mishap,
perhaps--to the carriage or one of the horses. Perhaps an error about
the time."
"No, no," said the admiral sternly. "We will wait here, sir. No; Myra,
take my arm; you shall not submit to this."
She was deadly pale, but she made no movement to obey.
"Not yet," she said in a low voice. "We must wait."
"It is impossible, I tell you!" cried the admiral loudly, for his rage
and mortification would have their way. "My dear girl! Hold up your
head; the shame is not yours. Guest, take my sister and niece to the
other carriage." Then, snatching Myra's hand, he led her back to the
door, his grey beard and moustache seeming to bristle as his eyes
flashed rage and defiance from side to side, till they reached the
portico, where a man stepped forward.
"The bells, sir?" he whispered deferentially; "the ringers are all
here?"
That was the last straw--a brazen one.
With an angry snort the admiral caught the man by the shoulder and swung
him out of the way, signalling directly after for his carriage, which,
as the coachman and footman had not expected to be wanted for some time
yet, stood right away, with the servants chatting by the horses' heads.
Not above a minute before the carriage was drawn up, but it was like an
age to those who listened to the whispering and giggling going on.
For the words "No bridegroom!" had reached the little crowd outside as
soon as the retiring wedding party; and as Guest heard a remark or two
made, there was a singing in his ears, and an insane desire to rush at
some staring idiot and thrash him within an inch of his life.
But he glanced at Myra as he pressed Edie's hand against his side, and
saw that the bride's head was erect and that she stepped proudly into
the carriage. Then the admiral took his seat by her side and said
firmly:
"Home!"
"To the hotel, sir?" said the footman.
"Home!" roared Sir Mark.
The footman sprang up to his seat, the carriage was driven off, and with
the crowd increasing Miss Jerrold's took its place.
"Quick, Mr Guest," whispered the admiral's sister. "She is fainting."
He had felt Edie's hand pressing more and more upon his arm, but in his
excitement this had not struck him as extraordinary; but now, as his
attention was drawn to her, she dropped her bouquet, and in his effort
to save her from sinking to the pavement the beautiful bunch of flowers
was crushed under foot.
The next minute he had lifted the poor girl into the carriage, and
handed the admiral's stern looking sister to her side.
Darting a look of agony at Edie's white face and the wreath and veil
fallen aside, Guest drew back for the door to be closed, but Miss
Jerrold made an imperious sign.
"No, no; come with us," she said hoarsely. "You must help me; and
explain. I dare not face my brother alone."
Guest sprang into the carriage, the door was shut quickly, and the
footman leaped to his place as the horses started forward with a loud
trampling of hoofs, but not quickly enough to take them beyond the
hearing of a derisive cheer.