“Oh!  I know that,” said Aurelia, blushing; “but it is so sudden!  And I was thinking of my father—–­”

“Your honoured father has given full consent in writing,” said the steward.  “Your doubts and scruples are most natural, my dear madam, but under the circumstances they must give way, for it would be impossible to Mr. Belamour to go through a public wedding.”

That Aurelia well knew, though she had expected nothing so sudden or so private; but she began to feel that she must allow all to be as he chose; and she remembered that she had never pressed on him her longing for her father’s presence, having taken it as a matter of course, and besides, having been far too shy to enter on the subject of her wedding.  So she rose up as in a dream, saying, “Shall I go as I am?”

“I fear a fuller toilet would be lost upon the bridegroom,” said the lawyer with some commiseration, as he looked at the beautiful young creature about to be bound to the heart-broken old hermit.  “You will have to do me the honour of accepting my services in the part of father.”

He was a man much attached to the family, and especially to Mr. Belamour, his first patron, and was ready to do anything at his bidding or for his pleasure.  Such private weddings were by no uncommon up to the middle of the last century.  The State Law was so easy as to render Gretna Green unnecessary, when the presence of any clergyman anywhere, while the parties plighted their troth before witnesses, was sufficient to legalise the union; nor did any shame or sense of wrong necessarily attach to such marriages.  Indeed they were often the resource of persons too bashful or too refined to endure the display and boisterous merriment by which a public wedding was sure to be attended.  Every one knew of excellent and respectable couples who had not been known to be married till the knot had been tied for several days or weeks—­so that there was nothing in this to shock the bride.  And as usual she did as she was told, and let Mr. Hargrave lead her by her finger-tips towards Mr. Belamour’s apartments.  Mrs. Aylward was waiting in the lobby, with a fixed impassive countenance, intended to imply that though obedient to the summons to serve as a witness, it was no concern of hers.  On the stairs behind her the maids were leaning over the balusters, stuffing their aprons into their mouths lest their tittering should betray them.

The sitting-room was nearly, but not quite, dark, for a lamp, closely shaded, cast a dim light on a Prayer-book, placed on a small table, behind which stood poor Mr. Greaves—­a black spectre, whose white bands were just discernible below a face whose nervous, disturbed expression was lost in the general gloom.  He carefully avoided looking at the bride, fearing perhaps some appeal on her part such as would make his situation perplexing.  Contempt and poverty had brought his stamp of clergymen very low, and rendered them abject.  He had been taken by surprise, and though assured that this was according to my Lady’s will, and with the consent of the maiden’s father, he was in an agony of fright, shifting awkwardly from leg to leg, and ruffling the leaves of the book, as a door opened and the bridegroom appeared, followed by Jumbo.