Part 78 (1/2)
”If the very deuce himself stood there with his horns and tail, you would find excuses to make for him,” fired Miss Corny. ”You are as bad as Archibald! Notice Afy Hallijohn, when she dresses and flirts and minces as you saw her but now! What creditable servant would flaunt abroad in such a dress and bonnet as that, with that flimsy gauze thing over her face. It's as disreputable as your s.h.i.+rt-front.”
Mr. Dill coughed humbly, not wis.h.i.+ng to renew the point of the s.h.i.+rt- front. ”She is not exactly a servant, Miss Corny, she's a lady's maid; and ladies' maids do dress outrageously fine. I had great respect for her father, ma'am; never a better clerk came into our office.”
”Perhaps you'll tell me you have a respect for her! The world's being turned upside down, I think. Formerly, mistresses kept their servants to work; now it seems they keep them for play! She's going to St. Jude's, you may be sure of it, to stare at this fine wedding, instead of being at home, in a cotton gown and white ap.r.o.n, making beds. Mrs. Latimer must be a droll mistress, to give her liberty in this way. What's that fly for?” sharply added Miss Corny, as one drew up to the office door.
”Fly,” said Mr. Dill, stretching forward his bald head. ”It must be the one I ordered. Then I'll wish you good-day, Miss Corny.”
”Fly for you?” cried Miss Corny. ”Have you got the gout, that you could not walk to St. Jude's on foot?”
”I am not going to the church yet; I am going on to the Grove, Miss Corny. I thought it would look more proper to have a fly ma'am; more respectful.”
”Not a doubt but you need it in that trim,” retorted she. ”Why didn't you put on pumps and silk stockings with pink clocks?”
He was glad to bow himself out, she kept on so. But he thought he would do it with a pleasant remark, to show her he bore no ill-will. ”Just look at the crowds pouring down, Miss Corny; the church will be as full as it can cram.”
”I dare say it will,” retorted she. ”One fool makes many.”
”I fear Miss Cornelia does not like this marriage, any more than she did the last,” quoth Mr. Dill to himself as he stepped into his fly. ”Such a sensible woman as she is in other things, to be so bitter against Mr.
Archibald because he marries! It's not like her. I wonder,” he added, his thoughts changing, ”whether I do look foolish in this s.h.i.+rt? I'm sure I never thought of decking myself out to appear young--as Miss Corny said--I only wished to testify respect to Mr. Archibald and Miss Barbara; nothing else would have made me give five-and-twenty s.h.i.+llings for it. Perhaps it's not etiquette--or whatever they call it--to wear them in the morning, Miss Corny ought to know; and there certainly must be something wrong about it, by the way it put her up. Well, it can't be helped now; it must go; there's no time to return home now to change it.”
St. Jude's Church was in a cram; all the world and his wife had flocked into it. Those who could not get in, took up their station in the churchyard and in the road.
Well, it was a goodly show. Ladies and gentlemen as smart as fine feathers could make them. Mr. Carlyle was one of the first to enter the church, self-possessed and calm, the very sense of a gentleman. Oh, but he was n.o.ble to look upon; though when was he otherwise? Mr. and Mrs.
c.l.i.thero were there, Anne Hare, that was; a surprise for some of the gazers, who had not known they were expected at the wedding. Gentle, delicate Mrs. Hare walked up the church leaning on the arm of Sir John Dobede, a paler shade than usual on her sweet, sad face. ”She's thinking of her wretched, ill-doing son,” quoth the gossips, one to another. But who comes in now, with an air as if the whole church belonged to him? An imposing, pompous man, stern and grim, in a new flaxen wig, and a white rose in his b.u.t.tonhole. It is Mr. Justice Hare, and he leads in one, whom folks jump upon seats to get a look at.
Very lovely was Barbara, in her soft white silk robes and her floating veil. Her cheeks, now blus.h.i.+ng rosy red, now pale as the veil that shaded them, betrayed how intense was her emotion. The bridesmaids came after her with jaunty steps, vain in their important office--Louisa Dobede, Augusta and Kate Herbert, and Mary Pinner.
Mr. Carlyle was already in his place at the altar, and as Barbara neared him, he advanced, took her hand, and placed her on his left. I don't think that it was quite usual; but he had been married before, and ought to know. The clerk directed the rest where to stand, and, after some little delay, the service proceeded.
In spite of her emotion--and that it was great, scarcely to be suppressed, none could doubt--Barbara made the responses bravely. Be you very sure that a woman who loves him she is being united to, must experience this emotion.
”Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after G.o.d's ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony?” spoke the Rev.
Mr. Little. ”Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
”I will.”
Clearly, firmly, impressively was the answer given. It was as if Barbara had in her thoughts one who had not ”kept holy unto him,” and would proclaim her own resolution never so to betray him, G.o.d helping her.
The ceremony was very soon over, and Barbara, the magic ring upon her finger and her arm within Mr. Carlyle's was led out to his chariot, now hers--had he not just endowed her with his worldly goods?
The crowd shouted and hurrahed as they caught sight of her blus.h.i.+ng face, but the carriage was soon clear of the crowd, who concentrated their curiosity upon the other carriages that were to follow it. The company were speeding back to the Grove to breakfast. Mr. Carlyle, breaking the silence, suddenly turned to his bride and spoke, his tone impa.s.sioned, almost unto pain.
”Barbara, you will keep your vows to me?”
She raised her shy blue eyes, so full of love to his; earnest feeling had brought the tears to them.
”Always, in the spirit and in the letter, until death shall claim me. So help me Heaven!”
The German watering-places were crowded that early autumn. They generally are crowded at that season, now that the English flock abroad in shoals, like the swallows quitting our cold country, to return again some time. France has been pretty well used up, so now we fall upon Germany. Stalkenberg was that year particularly full, for its size--you might have put it in a nutsh.e.l.l; and it derived its importance, name, and most else belonging to it, from its lord of the soil, the Baron von Stalkenberg. A stalwart old man was the baron, with grizzly hair, a grizzled beard, and manners as loutish as those of the boars he hunted.
He had four sons as stalwart as himself, and who promised to be in time as grizzled. They were all styled the Counts von Stalkenberg, being distinguished by their Christian names--all save the eldest son, and he was generally called the young baron. Two of them were away--soldiers; and two, the eldest and the youngest, lived with their father in the tumble-down castle of Stalkenberg, situated about a mile from the village to which it gave its name. The young Baron von Stalkenberg was at liberty to marry; the three Counts von Stalkenberg were not--unless they could pick up a wife with enough money to keep herself and her husband. In this creed they had been brought up. It was a perfectly understood creed, and not rebelled against.
The young Baron von Stalkenberg, who was only styled young in contradistinction to his father, being in his forty-first year, was famous for a handsome person, and for his pa.s.sionate love of the chase: of wild boars and wolves he was the deadly enemy. The Count Otto von Stalkenberg, eleven years his brother's junior, was famous for nothing but his fiercely-ringed moustache, a habit of eating, and an undue addiction to draughts of Marcobrunen. Somewhat meager fare, so report ran, was the fas.h.i.+on in the Castle of Stalkenberg--neither the old baron nor his heir cared for luxury; therefore Count von Otto was sure to be seen at the table d' hote as often as anybody would invite him, and that was nearly every day, for the Count von Stalkenberg was a high-sounding t.i.tle, and his baronial father, proprietor of all Stalkenberg, lorded it in the baronial castle close by, all of which appeared very grand and great, and that the English bow down to with an idol's wors.h.i.+p.