I feel so solemn," whispered Marcella. She wished very
much that Wullie was there. She felt that he would have understood how
she felt as she repeated mechanically the words the old man told her;
she did not hear them really. She was making an end of all her doubts of
Louis; she knew, quite definitely, that whatever misery or degradation
might come to her in the future, whatever wild or conceited or cussed or
tropical thoughts had brought her to this dull little chapel to-night,
God was quite surely making her His pathway, walking over her life with
shining feet, burning out all the less fine things that did not belong
to Him. She woke up to feel Louis fumbling with her hand to put the ring
on; she had been miles and years away, through fires and waters of
consecration.
The old clergyman looked at her; he looked at Louis. The actual service
according to the book was over. He gave a little sigh, turned to lead
them to the vestry to sign their names, and then quite suddenly came
back and asked them to kneel down. He talked to God very intimately
about them. Marcella got the queer idea that he was talking to her all
the time.
"He must have thought a lot of you," whispered the old woman. "It isn't
like him to make up a extry bit like that. Well, I'm sure I wish yous
luck, both of you. Mind not let him have too much of his own way, my
dear.
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