Attired in that
Quaker-like garb of dove-colour and white, her soft cheek tinged as from
the sun, her eyes cast down in modest shyness, and her heart beating
with quiet happiness, she seemed a fitting bride to wait upon that heir
of so many by-gone generations.
And assuredly a happier never drove to a church to meet her expectant
bridegroom, her hand clasped lovingly between the kindly palms of her
future mother, sitting by her side; and the affectionate glances of her
uncle and aunt cast upon her from the opposite seat. She felt as if it
were all a dream. She, the Irish beggar--the friendless--the
wanderer--the orphan!
And now so honoured! All whom she most cared for in the world, with the
exception of Rowland, were assembled in that village church to meet her.
There were Owen and his father--Miss Gwynne and Minette--Mr and Mrs
Jonathan Prothero.
Gentleness, gratitude and simple merit, were, for once rewarded, even in
this world.
The kind and worthy Uncle Jonathan--so soon to be _her_ uncle--married
her. Her own uncle gave her, with prayers and blessings, to him whom she
had loved so long and truly--her former mistress, now her fast friend,
and another mistress's grandchild, were her bridesmaids.
If a tear gathered in her eye, it was a tear of joy; and there, at the
altar, amongst all those to whom she was henceforth to be united by the
ties of relationship, she inwardly vowed to devote herself to their
happiness, and to the fulfilment of the promises she was making to him
who would be one with her for ever.
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