A whisper, communicated from those who stood
nearest the windows, now spread through the church; a hearse, with a
train of several coaches, was creeping along the street, conveying
some dead man to the churchyard, while the bride awaited a living
one at the altar. Immediately after, the footsteps of the bridegroom
and his friends were heard at the door. The widow looked down the
aisle, and clinched the arm of one of her bridemaids in her bony
hand with such unconscious violence, that the fair girl trembled.
"You frighten me, my dear madam!" cried she. "For Heaven's sake,
what is the matter?"
"Nothing, my dear, nothing," said the widow; then, whispering close
to her ear, "There is a foolish fancy that I cannot get rid of. I am
expecting my bridegroom to come into the church, with my first two
husbands for groomsmen!"
"Look, look!" screamed the bridemaid. "What is here? The funeral!"
As she spoke, a dark procession paced into the church. First came
an old man and woman, like chief mourners at a funeral, attired from
head to foot in the deepest black, all but their pale features and
hoary hair; he leaning on a staff, and supporting her decrepit form
with his nerveless arm.
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