“Come, then.”

And the aged bridegroom drew the arm of his bride-elect within his own and led the way down stairs and out to the handsome carriage that stood waiting.

He handed her in, put her on the back seat and placed himself beside her.

Sylvan helped his sister into the carriage and followed her.  They seated themselves on the front seat opposite the bridal pair.

And the carriage drove off.

“Oh!” suddenly exclaimed old Aaron Rockharrt, rummaging in the breast pocket of his coat and drawing thence a white envelope and handing it to Sylvan; “here, take this and give it to the minister as soon as we come before him.”

The young man received the packet and looked inquiringly at the elder.  It was really the marriage fee for the officiating clergyman, and a very ostentatious one also; but the Iron King did not condescend to explain anything.  He had given it to his grandson with his orders, which he expected to be implicitly obeyed without question.  They reached the church, the same church in which they had heard the dean preach on the previous Sunday.  They alighted from the carriage and entered the building, old Aaron Rockharrt leading the way with his bride-elect on his arm, Sylvan and Cora following.  The church was vacant of all except the minister, who stood in his surplice behind the chancel railing, and the sexton who had opened the door for the party, and was now walking before them up the aisle.

The church was empty, because this, though the wedding of a millionaire, was one of which it might be said that there was “No feast, no cake, no cards, no nothing.”

The party reached the altar railing, bowed silently to the minister, who nodded gravely in return, and then formed before the altar—­the venerable bridegroom and beautiful bride in the center, Sylvan on the right of the groom, Cora on the left of the bride.  The young man performed the mission with which he had been intrusted, and then the ceremony was commenced.  It went on smoothly enough until the minister in its proper place asked the question: 

“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

There was an awful pause.

No one had thought of the necessity of having a “church father” to give away the bride.

The officiating clergyman saw the dilemma at a glance, and quietly beckoned the gray-haired sexton to come up and act as a substitute.  But Sylvan Haught, with a twinkle of fun in his eyes, turned his head and whispered to the new comer: 

“‘After me is manners of you.’”

Then he took the bride’s hand and said mightily:—­

“I do.”

The marriage ceremony went on to its end and was over.  Congratulations were offered.  The register was signed and witnessed.

And old Aaron Rockharrt led his newly married wife out of the church and put her into the carriage.  Then turning around to his grandchildren he said: