The bishop, with two other clergymen, in their white vestments, entered and took their places at the altar.  The choir struck up Mendelssohn’s wedding march.  The bride’s procession came slowly up under all the floral arches of the center aisle to the floral hedge around the chancel.

The bridegroom came gayly out of the vestry room to meet her, smiling, radiant, tripping as if he had been a slim young lover of twenty, instead of a tall and heavy giant of fifty odd.  He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and led her to the altar, where both knelt.  The bridesmaids grouped behind them.  The best man stood on the groom’s right.  Old Aaron Rockharrt, Mrs. Rothsay and Cadet Haught came out of their pew and formed a group behind the bridegroom.

Mrs. Chief Justice Pendletime, and a few intimate friends, came out of her pew and grouped behind the bride and her maids.

The rest of the congregation remained in their pews, but stood up, and those in the rear raised on tiptoes and craned their necks to witness the proceedings.  As soon as the bridegroom and the bride had knelt under the floral arch, from the high center of which hung a wedding bell of white wood violets, the bishop and his assistants stepped down from the high altar steps, and opened their books.

The rites commenced, and went on without any unusual disturbance of their course until they came to the question: 

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

Her guardian, the chief justice, a portly, ponderous person, was moving solemnly forward to perform this duty, when—­

Old Aaron Rockharrt—­not from officiousness, but out of pure simple egotism—­took the bride’s hand and placed it in that of the groom, saying: 

“I do.”

You may judge the effect of this.  The bride was mildly amazed; the bridegroom was deeply annoyed; the chief justice, the rightful owner of the thunder, was highly offended, and withdrew back in solemn dignity.  Meanwhile the ceremony went on to its end.  The benediction was pronounced, and congratulations were in order.

The marriage feast was a great success, like most other affairs of the kind.  The chief justice had not got over the affront given him at the church, but he could not show resentment in his own house, and on the occasion of his young ward’s wedding breakfast.  As for Old Aaron Rockharrt, he had not the faintest idea that he had committed any breach of propriety.  The deuce, you say!  Was it not his own eldest son’s wedding?  Had he not a right to give away the bride?  He never even asked himself the question.  He took it for granted as a matter of course.  Besides, was not he the greatest man present?  And should not he do just as he thought fit?  So in utter ignorance of any offense given to any one, the Iron King unbent his stiffness for once, and was very genial to every one, especially to the chief justice, who, secretly offended as he was, could not but respond to this friendliness.