He stared, bowed, and sunk into his place like a man in a dream.

Bridemaids became magnetically conscious that an incongruous element had entered; so they tittered.  At what does sweet silly seventeen not titter?

Knives and forks clattered, champagne popped, and Dr. Amboyne was more perplexed and miserable than he had ever been.  He had never encountered a more hopeless situation.

Presently Lally came and touched the bridegroom.  He apologized, and left the room a moment.

Lally then told him to be on his guard, for the fat doctor knew something.  He had come tearing up in a fly, and had been dreadfully put out when he found Miss Carden was gone to the church.

“Well, but he might merely wish to accompany her to the church:  he is an old friend.”

Lally shook his head and said there was much more in it than that; he could tell by the man’s eye, and his uneasy way.  “Master, dear, get out of this, for heaven’s sake, as fast as ye can.”

“You are right; go and order the carriage round, as soon as the horses can be put to.”

Coventry then went hastily back to the bridal guests, and Lally ran to the neighboring inn which furnished the four post-horses.

Coventry had hardly settled down in his chair before he cast a keen but furtive glance at Dr. Amboyne’s face.

Then he saw directly that the doctor’s mind was working, and that he was secretly and profoundly agitated.

But, after all, he thought, what could the man know?  And if he had known any thing, would he have kept it to himself?

Still he judged it prudent to propitiate Dr. Amboyne; so, when the time came for the usual folly of drinking healths, he leaned over to him, and, in the sweetest possible voice, asked him if he would do them both the honor to propose the bride’s health.

At this unexpected call from Mr. Coventry, Dr. Amboyne stared in the bridegroom’s face.  He stared at him so that other people began to stare.  Recovering himself a little, he rose mechanically, and surprised every body who knew him.

Instead of the easy gayety natural to himself and proper to the occasion, he delivered a few faltering words of affection for the bride; then suddenly stopped, and, after a pause, said, “But some younger man must foretell her the bright career she deserves.  I am unfit.  We don’t know what an hour may bring forth.”  With this he sunk into his chair.

An uneasy grin, and then a gloom, fell on the bright company at these strange words, and all looked at one another uncomfortably.

But this situation was unexpectedly relieved.  The young curate rose, and said, “I accept the honor Dr. Amboyne is generous enough to transfer to the younger gentlemen of the party—­accept it with pride.”

Starting from this exordium, he pronounced, with easy volubility, a charming panegyric on the bride, congratulated her friends, and then congratulated himself on being the instrument to unite her in holy wedlock with a gentleman worthy of her affection.  Then, assuming for one moment the pastor, he pronounced a blessing on the pair, and sat down, casting glances all round out of a pair of singularly restless eyes.