247 CHAPTER XIX. 66 WILT THOU HAVE THIS MAN?" He that will enter into Paradise must have a good key. Proverb. It was the first morning of a new year. The heaven was black with clouds, and a raging wind swept the sea and the land, driving the former before it in fleecy foam, and making the great trees on the latter reel and stagger under its fierce blows. What had induced Mr. Carnanton to venture out in such wild weather? He had seen many winters, as his feeble gait and the white hairs which peeped out from under his hat abundantly testified. He had seen many winters, I say, but few winter storms like this. It beat in his face, and whirled him onwards with a force which almost lifted him off his feet. At one moment he had to crouch against the hedge for temporary shelter, at another to rush past a gate like a gunboat passing a battery. His business was worth a little personal inconvenience, for he was bent on such an errand of mercy as "blesseth him that gives and him that takes." He was about to give the Church's blessing to two young hearts, to make the currents of two lives. flow into one channel. "Wedding bells, golden bells! Their harmony foretells." Unfortunately, on this marriage morning the fulfilment of the above theory was somewhat problematical, for the bride was by no means eager to take the solemn vows which, nevertheless, she would without doubt endeavour to fulfil. A deep boom had been borne to Mr. Carnanton's ears as he left his house, a half-mile or more from the church, which made his heart leap with fear, for it told him that some ship was in distress on the dreaded coast of his parish, and that brave sailors would soon be fighting for their lives. Boom! it sounded again, and the devout old man lifted up his heart to the Ruler of the elements to save the struggling mariners. The parson at last reached the church as the aforesaid black clouds began to discharge their contents upon the hapless earth with the violence of waterspouts. He found the high contracting parties waiting for him. There was Jenifer clad in well-worn, not to say thread-bare, garments of her own, for she had resolutely declined the offers of Mrs. Dunstable to provide her with a wedding outfit. She looked even paler than was her wont, and tears, which were not tears of joy, came ever and anon to her eyes. The expectant bridegroom looked triumphant. Tall and well-made, with black eyes and clustering hair of the same hue, he was, so far as outward appearances go, a young man whom a woman might be pardoned for falling in love with. And, indeed, with the exception of a somewhat large amount of self-satisfaction and self-assertion, there was nothing particular in his character and conduct to find fault with. He was handsome, capable, and prosperous, and, therefore, decidedly eligible from the matrimonial market point of view. Mr. Rundle, senior, had been won over, to some extent, by the persuasive tongue of his son, and was present "to see fair play," as he put it to his wife. Jeremiah's best black broad-cloth, which only saw the light on great occasions, was taken from its usual resting-place, a deep drawer, as its crumpled appearance clearly showed. "It will air the coat, if nothing else, and keep the moth from eating it," Jeremiah remarked to his spouse as he invested himself in this sacred garment. "This congregation" was completed by Daniel Trewhella in his best beaver coat with brass buttons, and Rebecca, looking quite gay in the treasured Paisley shawl, which she had worn at her own wedding so many years before. Of course the solemn clerk and the ancient dame whose business it was to clean the church were there, but they being official, not to say officious, would decidedly object to be classed with the ordinary people who required their ministration. |