Perhaps her own want was common to all
lives: then she was cherishing a selfish ideal, and rejecting the
positive good offered to her hands.
After long hesitation she yielded. The predictions of society came
to naught; instead of becoming an "eccentric" spinster, Miss
Bartram was announced to be the affianced bride of Mr. Lawrie. A
few weeks and months rolled around, and when the wedding-day came,
she almost hailed it as the port of refuge, where she should find
a placid and peaceful life.
They were married by an aged clergyman, a relative of the
bridegroom. The cross-street where his chapel stood, fronting a
Methodist church--both of the simplest form of that architecture
fondly supposed to be Gothic,--was quite blocked up by the
carriages of the party. The pews were crowded with elegant guests,
the altar was decorated with flowers, and the ceremony lacked
nothing of its usual solemn beauty. The bride was pale, but
strikingly calm and self-possessed, and when she moved towards the
door as Mrs. Lawrie, on her husband's arm, many matrons, recalling
their own experience, marvelled at her unflurried dignity.
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