Part 54 (2/2)

”He's only a poor thing,” said Mr. Jelly in Pete's ear as John the Clerk went off. ”No more music in the man than my ould sow. Did you hear the horn this morning, sir? Never got up so early for a wedding before. I'll be giving you 'the Black and the Grey' going into the church.”

Grannie came down in a gigantic bonnet like a half-moon, with her white cap visible beneath it; and Nancy Joe appeared behind her, be-ribboned out of all recognition, and taller by many inches for the turret of feathers and flowers on the head that was usually bare.

Then the church bells began to peal, and Caesar made a prolonged A--hm!

and said in a large way, ”Has the carriage arrived?”

”It's coming over by the bridge now,” said somebody at the door, and at the next moment a covered wagonette drew up at the porch.

”All ready?” asked Caesar.

”Stop, sir,” said Pete, and then, turning to Nancy Joe, ”Is it glad a man should be on his wedding-day, Nancy?”

”Why, of coorse, you goose. What else?” she answered.

”Well, no man can be glad in a s.h.i.+rt like this,” said Pete; ”I'm going back to take it off.”

Two minutes afterwards he reappeared in his flannel one, under his suit of blue pilot, looking simple and natural, and a man every inch of him.

”Now call the bride,” said Caesar.

XXI.

Kate had been kept awake during the dark hours with a sound in her ears that was like the measured ringing of far-off bells. When the daylight came she slept a troubled sleep, and when she awoke she had a sense of stupefaction, as if she had taken a drug, and was not yet recovered from the effects of it. Nancy came bouncing into her room and crying, ”It's your wedding-day, Kitty!” She answered by repeating mechanically, ”It's your wedding day, Kitty.”

There was an expression of serenity on her face; she even smiled a little. A sort of vague gaiety came over her, such as comes to one who has watched long in agony and suspense by the bed of a sick person and the person is dead. Nancy drew the little window curtain aside, stooped down, and looked out and said, ”'Happy the bride the sun s.h.i.+nes on'

they're saying, and look! the sun is s.h.i.+ning.”

”Oh, but the sun is an old sly-boots,” she answered.

They came up to dress her. She kept stumbling against things, and then laughing in a faint way. The dress was the new one, and when they had put it on they stood back from her and shouted with delight. She took up the little broken hand-gla.s.s to look at herself. Her great eyes sparkled piteously.

The church bells began to ring her wedding-peal. She had to listen hard to hear it. All sounds seemed to be very far away; everything looked a long way off. She was living in a sort of dead white dawn of thought and feeling.

At last they came to say the coach was ready and everything was waiting for the bride. She repeated their message like a machine, made a slow gesture, and followed them downstairs. When she got near to the bottom, she looked around on the faces below as if expecting to see somebody.

Just then her father was saying, ”Mr. Christian is to meet us at the church.”

She smiled faintly and answered the people's greetings in an indistinct tone. There was some indulgent whispering at sight of her pale face.

”Pale but genteel,” said some one, and then Nancy reached over and drew the bride's veil down over her face.

At the next minute she was outside the house, standing at the back of the wagonette. The coachman, with his white rosette, was holding the door open on one side, and her father was elevating her hand on the other.

”Am I to go, then?” she asked in a helpless voice.

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