By Birth A Lady Part 45

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 flas.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.ses 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 pa.s.sed, and the chancel entered--the chancel filled with friends, who smilingly part to allow her to pa.s.s 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 ha.s.socks 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 fas.h.i.+on 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 pa.s.sing 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 flas.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.sed. 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 smas.h.i.+ng of a carriage than the linking together of hearts, set off at a brisk run down the High-street.

Volume 3, Chapter IX.

RESIGNATION.

There was a look of calm resignation on Charley Vining's face as he met his father at their early breakfast that morning, to which he had descended without a trace of excitement. He was certainly carefully dressed, his dark-blue morning coat and vest and grey trousers fitting his fine figure admirably, while the utter want of constraint displayed told of breeding as plainly as did his well-cut handsome features.

Well might Sir Philip gaze with pride in his son's face, lit up now by the pleasant smile of greeting; and even he, the smooth cleanly-shaven old courtier of a bygone school, owned to himself that it would be a sin and a shame to cut off even a hair of the crisp golden beard that swept down upon his son's breast.

Charley's face was paler now than when we first met him. The ruddy tan had disappeared, to leave his skin pure, fair, and soft as a woman's; but there was no show of effeminacy there. His firm look of determination swept that away, and he was, indeed, that morning a bridegroom of whom any woman might have been proud.

"A good half-hour yet," said Charley, referring to his watch. "I shall have a cigar in the shrubbery before we start, dad." And he nodded to his father and the friends who were to accompany them. "Shall you have both carriages?"

"Yes, my dear boy, yes!" exclaimed Sir Philip nervously, as his snuff-box came out as if by instinct. "But, Charley!" he said in a whisper, "you won't--I don't think I'd smoke this morning!"

"Not smoke, dad!" laughed Charley. "Why not? Perhaps as soon as the knot is tied, I may be forbidden."

"Stuff, my dear boy! But this morning, think of the odour; the ladies, Charley, the ladies!"

"My dear father," laughed the young man quite merrily, "surely you are not going to sprinkle that elaborate frill with snuff. Think, dad, the ladies, the ladies!"

"Go and have your havana," laughed Sir Philip. "I daresay the fresh air will take off the smell."

"You won't smoke, of course?" said Charley to his friends.

"O, no, not this morning, thank you," said one. "We'll pay attention to your boxes when we come back."

Charley nodded carelessly, strolled out in his wedding trim, stood upon the broad facade, and lit a cigar, and then walked slowly down towards the avenue.

"Mind, Charley, at half-past ten precisely. Don't forget the carriages!" cried Sir Philip, throwing up a window as his son pa.s.sed.

"All right," said Charley quietly; and the next instant he had disappeared among the trees.

Volume 3, Chapter X.

NOT BY POST.

The sun shone brightly through the bare branches, and the soft blue vapour from Charley Vining's cigar floated upwards, but without poisoning the atmosphere, as red-hot opponents of tobacco--the disciples of the British Solomon, the counter-blaster--so strongly a.s.sert. In fact, Charley's pure havana was fragrant to inhale, and under its soft seductive influence the young man strolled on and on, forgetful of everything but the train of thought upon which his ideas were gliding back into the past.

For as he strolled onward, sending light cloud after light cloud to the skies, there came to him a sense of sadness that he could not control: Laura, the wedding, pa.s.sed away as that fair reproachful face floated before him, the soft grey eyes fixed on his, and the white lips seeming to quiver and tremble. He tried angrily to crush it out from his mental sight; but its gentle appealing look disarmed his anger, and back came gently all that he had seen of her, all he had heard, all that she had said to him; and now, for the first time, he asked himself whether his eyes had not deceived him, whether it was possible that she, Ella, so pure, so holy, could have been the woman who hurried by, leaning upon Max Bray's arm.