There, in the great hall, they met the bridegroom and his six groomsmen; for it was the custom of that time and place to have a groomsman for each bridesmaid.  The bridegroom and governor-elect was not a handsome man—­that was conceded even by his best friends—­but he was tall and muscular, with a look of strength, manliness and nobility that was impressive.  A son of the people truly, but with the brain of the ruler.  The whole rugged form and face assumed a gentleness and courtesy that almost conferred grace and beauty upon him, as he advanced to greet his bride.

Why did she shrink from him?

No one knew.  It was only for a moment; and happily, he, in the simplicity of a single, honest heart, had not seen the momentary shudder.

He drew her hand within his arm, looked down on her with a beam of ineffable tenderness and adoration, and then waited, as he had been instructed to do, until the groomsmen and bridesmaids had formed the procession that was to usher them into the drawing-room and before the officiating bishop.  They entered the crowded apartment.  The bishop, in his white robes, stood on the rug, supported by the Rev. Mr. Wells, temporary minister of the mission church at North End, and the ceremony began.  All went on well until he came to that part where the officiating minister must read—­though a mere form this solemn adjuration to the contracting lovers: 

“’I require and charge ye both, as ye shall answer at the dreadful day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know just cause why ye may not be united in matrimony, ye do now declare it.’”

There was a pause, to give opportunity for reply, if any reply was to be made—­a mere form, as the adjuration itself was.  Yet the bride shuddered throughout her frame.  Many noticed it, but not the bridegroom.

The ceremony went on.

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

Old Aaron Rockharrt, who stood on the right of the bridal party, stepped forth, took his granddaughter’s hand, and placed it in that of the groom, saying, with visible pride: 

“I do.”

The rites went on to their conclusion, and the whole party were invited into the dining-room, where the marriage feast was spread, where the revelry lasted two full hours, and might have lingered longer had not the bride withdrawn from the table, and, attended by her bridesmaids, retired to her chamber to change her bridal robes for a plain traveling suit of silver gray silk, with hat and gloves to match.

There the gentle, timid, old grandmother came to bid her pet child a private good-by.

“Are you happy, my love—­are you happy?” she inquired.  “Why don’t you answer?”

“My heart is full—­too full, grandma,” evasively answered Corona Rothsay.

“Ah, yes; that is natural—­very natural.  ’Even so it was with me when I was young,’” sighed the old lady, who detected no evasion in the words of her darling.