might have their share. The cook, though she was overwhelmed with work,
had made some cakes for breakfast, such us Elinor liked. "Most like as
we'll never have her no more--to mind," she said. The gardener sent up
an untidy bundle of white flowers. And Mrs. Dennistoun came herself to
pour out the tea. "As if I had been ill, or had turned into a baby
again," Elinor said. But there was not much said. Mary Tatham was there
for one thing, and for another and the most important they had said all
they had to say; the rest which remained could not be said. The wedding
was to be at a quarter to twelve, in order to give Lady Mariamne time to
come from town. It was not the fashion then to delay marriages to the
afternoon, which no doubt would have been much more convenient for
her ladyship; but the best that could be done was done. Mr. Tatham's
carriage, which he had brought with him to grace the ceremony, was
despatched to the station to meet Lady Mariamne, while he, good man,
had to get to church as he could in one of the flys. And then came the
important moment, when the dressing of the bride had to be begun. The
wedding-breakfast was not yet all set out in perfect order, and there
were many things to do. Yet every woman in the house had a little share
in the dressing of the bride. They all came to see how it fitted when
the wedding-dress was put on. It fitted like a glove! The long glossy
folds of the satin were a wonder to see. Cook stood just within the door
in a white apron, and wept, and could not say a word to Miss Elinor; but
the younger maids sent forth a murmur of admiration. And the Missis they
thought was almost as beautiful as the bride, though her satin was grey.
Mrs. Dennistoun herself threw the veil over her child's head, and put in
the diamond star, the old-fashioned ornament, which had been her
husband's present to herself. And then again she had meant to say
something to Elinor--a last word--but the word would not come. They were
both of them glad that somebody should be there all the time, that they
should not be left alone. And after that the strange, hurried,
everlasting morning was over, and the carriage was at the door.

Then again it was a relief that old Mr. Tatham had missed his proper
place in the fly, and had to go on the front seat with the bride and her
mother. It was far better so. If they had been left even for ten minutes
alone, who could have answered that one or the other would not have
cried