The neighbourhood said that nothing was ever done at Vale Leston according to the conventionalities, and the Devereux wedding was an instance.

Lancelot had brought word that Bishop Norman May had actually arrived from New Zealand for a half-year’s visit, bringing with him the younger missionary Leonard Ward, and that Dr. May’s happiness was unspeakable. “A renewed youth, if he needed to have it renewed.”

Clement and William Harewood went over to see them, and returned greatly impressed, and resolved on convoking the neighbourhood to be stirred in the cause of the Pacific islands. At the same time, one of the many letters from Lady Rotherwood about arrangements ended with—“My husband hopes you will be able to arrange for us to be introduced to your connections of the May family, the Bishop, Mr. Ward, and the good old doctor of whom we have heard so much.”

“We must invite them all to the wedding,” said Mrs. Harewood, who, as still inhabiting the Priory, would be the hostess.

“Certainly,” returned William Harewood, “but I don’t think Mr. Ward would come. He looks like an ancient hermit.”

“The best way,” said Mrs. Grinstead, “would be to finish up the wedding-day with a missionary garden-party.”

“Geraldine!” said Lady Vanderkist from her sofa, in feeble accents of dismay; but Mrs. William Harewood hardly heard, and did not notice.

“It would be the most admirable plan. It would give people something to do, and make a reason for having ever so many more.”

“Baits cleverly disposed,” said William. “The S.P.G. to attract Ward, Ward to attract the Marquis, and the Marquis to attract the herd.”

“Everybody throngs to the extremest outskirts of a wedding,” said Geraldine.

“They may have the presents on view in the long room,” said Wilmet.

“Provided they don’t have the list of them printed,” said Geraldine. “Lance won’t put them into the ‘Pursuivant’; it is disgusting!”

“So I have always thought,” said Robina; “but you hardly make allowances for the old ladies who love to spell them out.”

“The Marquis of Rotherwood—a gold-topped dressing-case; Miss Keren Happuch Tripp—a pincushion,” said Geraldine. “It is the idlest gossip, and should not be encouraged.”

“And,” added Robina, “as we go out through the cloister there will happily be no rice. Will has stopped it in the churchyard.”

“And fortunately we have no school-boys to reckon with, except Adrian and Fely, who will be quite amenable.”

For Kester Harewood was in India, and Edward on the Mediterranean; Adrian was at home, doing credit to Miss Mohun, and so vehemently collecting stamps, that he was said to wish to banish all his friends to the most remote corners of the earth to send them home.

Francie’s elder sisters declined being bridesmaids, so that Phyllis and Mysie were the chief, and the three young sisters, Wilmet, Alda, and Joan, with two little Underwoods and two small Harewoods, all in white frocks and sashes, were to attend and make a half-circle round the bride.

All took effect as had been purposed, each party being equally desirous that it should be truly a Christian wedding, such as might be a fit emblem of the great Marriage Feast, and bring a blessing—joyous and happy, yet avoiding the empty pomp and foolish mirth that might destroy the higher thoughts.

How beautiful Vale Leston church looked, decked with white roses, lilies, and myrtle! The bride, tall and stately in her flowing veil and glistening satin train, had her own sweet individuality, not too closely recalling the former little bride. She came on her uncle Clement’s arm, as most nearly representing a father to her, and the marriage blessing was given by the majestic-looking Bishop, with the two chief local clergy, Mr. William Harewood and Mr. Charles Audley, taking part of the service. It was a beautiful and impressive scene, and there was a great peace on all. It was good to see the intense bliss on Ivinghoe’s face as he led his bride down the aisle, and along the cloister; and as they came into the drawing-room, after she had received an earnest kiss, and “my pretty one” from his father, it was to Dr. May that he first led her. Dr. May, his figure still erect, his face bright and cheery, his brow entirely bare, and his soft white locks flowing over his collar. He held out his hands, “Ah, young things! You are come for the old man’s blessing! Truly you have it, my lady fair. You are fair indeed, as fair within as without. You have a great deal in the power of those little hands, and you—oh yes, both of you, believe, that a true, faithful, loving, elevating wife is the blessing of all one’s days, whether it be only for a few years, or, as I trust and pray it may be with you, for a long—long, good, and prosperous life together.”

The two young things bent their heads, and he blessed them with his blessing of eighty years. Lord Rotherwood’s eyes were full of tears, as he said in a choked voice—

“Thank you, sir,” while Franceska murmured to Mysie—

“I do like that he should have been the first to call me ‘my lady.’”

The luncheon included only the two families, and the actual assistants at the wedding, and it was really very merry. Lady Rotherwood did inspire a little awe, but then Alda, sitting near, knew exactly how to talk to her, and Alda, who, like Geraldine, had dressed herself in soft greys and whites, with her delicate cheeks flushed with pleasure and triumph, looked as beautiful as ever, and far outshone her twin, whose complexion and figure both had become those of the portly housewife.

Meta, otherwise Mrs. Norman May, had eyes as bright and lively as ever, though face and form had both grown smaller, and she was more like a fairy godmother than the Titania she had been in times of old. She had got into the middle of all the varieties of children, dragged thither by Gertrude’s Pearl and Audrey, and was making them happy.

Ethel and Geraldine never could come to the end of what they had to say to one another, except that Ethel could but be delighted to make her friend know the brother of her early youth; and show her the grave, earnest-looking man who had suffered so much, and whose hair was as white as the doctor’s, his face showing the sunburn of the tropics; and the crow’s-feet round his eyes, the sailor’s habit of searching gaze. He did not speak much, but watched the merry young groups as if they were a sort of comedy in his eyes.

They were very merry, especially when the doctor had proposed the health of the bride, and her brother, Sir Adrian, was called on to return thanks for her.

“Gentlemen and ladies,” he said, “no, I mean ladies and gentlemen, I am very much obliged to you all for the honour you have done my sister. I can tell Lord Ivinghoe she is a very good girl, and very nice, and all that, when she is not cocky, and doesn’t try to keep one in order.”

The speech was drowned in laughter, and calls to Ivinghoe to mind what he was about, and beware of the “new woman.”

So the young couple were seen off to spend their honeymoon in Scotland, and the rest of the party could pair off to enjoy their respective friends, except that Mary and Sophy had to exhibit the wedding presents to all and sundry of the visitors of all degrees who began to flock in.

Seats were ranged on the lawn, and when every one had had time to wonder at everything, from Lady Rotherwood’s set of emeralds, down to the choirboys’ carved bracket, the house-bell was rung, and all had to take their places on the lawn, fairly shaded by house, cloister, and cedar tree, and facing the conservatory, whose steps, with the terrace, formed a kind of platform. It is not needful to go through all, or how John Harewood, as host, explained that they had thought that it would be well to allow their guests to have the advantage of hearing their distinguished visitors tell of their experiences. And so they did, the Bishop pleading the cause of missions with his wonderful native eloquence, as he stood by the chair where his father sat listening to him, as to a strain of sweet music long out of reach. Then Leonard Ward simply and bluntly told facts about the Pacific islands and islanders, that set hearts throbbing, and impelled more than one young heart to long to tread in the like course.

Then Lord Rotherwood thanked and bungled as usual, so that Gustave Tanneguy would have a hard matter to reduce what he called the “aristocratic tongue” to plain English, or rather reporter’s English. The listeners were refreshed with tea, coffee, and lemonade, and there was a final service in the church, which many gladly attended, and thus ended what had been a true holiday.