sexton rushes to and fro like a rat in a trap. Finally, all being ready,
with the ushers formed two abreast, the sexton pushes a button, a small
buzzer sounds in the organ loft, and the organist, as has been said,
plunges magnificently into the fanfare of the "Lohengrin" march.
Simultaneously the sexton opens the door at the bottom of the main
aisle, and the wedding procession gets under weigh.

The bride and her father march first. Their step is so slow (about one
beat to two measures) that the father has some difficulty in maintaining
his equilibrium, but the bride herself moves steadily and erectly,
almost seeming to float. Her face is thickly encrusted with talcum in
its various forms, so that she is almost a dead white. She keeps her
eyelids lowered modestly, but is still acutely aware of every glance
fastened upon her--not in the mass, but every glance individually. For
example, she sees clearly, even through her eyelids, the still, cold
smile of a girl in Pew 8 R--a girl who once made an unwomanly attempt
upon the bridegroom's affections, and was routed and put to flight by
superior strategy. And her ears are open, too: she hears every "How
sweet!" and "Oh, lovely!" and "Ain't she pale!" from the latitude of
the last pew to the very glacis of the altar of God.

While she has thus made her progress up the hymeneal chute, the
bridegroom and his best man have emerged from the vestryroom and begun
the short march to the prie-dieu. They walk haltingly, clumsily,
uncertainly, stealing occasional glances at the advancing bridal party.
The bridegroom feels of his lower right-hand waistcoat pocket; the ring
is still there. The best man wriggles his cuffs. No one, however, pays
any heed to them. They are not even seen, indeed, until the bride and
her father reach the open space in front of the altar. There the bride
and the bridegroom find themselves standing side by side, but not a word
is exchanged between them, nor even a look of recognition. They stand
motionless, contemplating the ornate cushion at their feet, until the
bride's father and the bridesmaids file to the left of the bride and the
ushers, now wholly disorganized and imbecile, drape themselves in an
irregular file along the altar rail. Then, the music having died down to
a faint murmur and a hush having fallen upon the assemblage, they look
up.

Before them, framed by foliage, stands the reverend gentleman of God who
will presently link them in indissolub