The Portland daily press., 1892-01-04
SELF into the carriage that / had brought

''Drive to the church, said as some
one shut the door, "Mr. Charrington
hasn't come by this train"
Anxiety now replaced anger. What
had become of the man? Could he have
been taken suddenly i'll? I had never
known him to have days illness in his
life. And even SO, he might have tele-
graphed. Some awful accident must
have happened to him. The thought that
he had played her false, never-no, not for
moment, entered my head. Yes, some
thing terrible had happened to him, and
on me lay the task of telling his bride.
tell you l almost wished the carriage
would upset and break my head, 80 that
some one else might tell her, not l, who
but that's nothing to do with the story.
1t was 3:55 as we drew up at the
churchyard gate. A double row of eager
onlookers lined the path from Itch gate
to porch. I sprang from the carriage
and passed up between them. Our gar
dener had good front place near the
door. stopped.
care they waiting still, Byles?" I
asked, simplydto gain time, for of course
| knew they were by the waiting crowds
attentive attitude.
waiting, sirl No, no, cir; why, it
must be over by, now"
"Over! Then Mr.. Clearinghouse come"
''To the minute, sir; must have missed
you somehow, and say, sir" lowering
mis- voice, 81 never see Mr.. John the
least bit SO afore, but my opinion is he's
been drinking, pretty free. His clothes
was all dusty and his face like sheet.
1 tell you l didn't like the looks of him
at all, and the folks inside are saying all
sorts of things. You'll see something's
gone very wrong with Mr.. John, and
he's tried liquor. He looked like
ghost, and in he went with his eyes
straight before him, with never a look
or word for none of us; him that was
always such a gentleman!'
had never heard Byles make so long
a speech. The crowd in the churchyard
were talking in whispers and getting
ready rice and slippers to throw at the
bride and bridegroom. The ringers
were ready with their hands on the
ropes to ring out the merry peal as the
bride and bridegroom should come out.
A murmur from the church announced
them; out they came. Byles was right.
John Charringtoti did not look himself.
There was dust on his coat, his hair was
disarranged. He seemed to have been
above his eyebrow. He was deathly pale.
But his pallor was not greater than that
of the bride, who might have been carved
in ivory-dress, veil, orange blossoms
and all.
AS they passed out the ringers stopped
there were six of them-and then, on
the ears expecting the gay wedding peal
came the slow tolling Of the passing
bell.
A thrill of horror at so foolish Jest
from the ringers passed through us all.
But the ringers themselves dropped the
ropes and fed like rabbits down the bel
fry stairs. The bride shuddered, and
gray shadows came about her mouth,
but the bridegroom led her on down the
path where the people stood with the
handfuls of rice; but the handfuls were
never thrown, and the wedding bells
never rang. In vain the ringers were
urged to remedy their mistake; they pro-
tested with many whispered explosives
that they would see themselves further
first.
In hush like the hush in the chamber
of death the bridal pair passed into their
carriage, and its door was slammed be-
hind them.
Then the tongues were loosed. A babel
of anger, wonder, conjecture from the
guests and the spectators.
"If I'd seen his condition, sir" said old
Forster to me aswe drove off, II would
have stretched, him on the floor of the
church, sir, by heaven 1 would, before
I'd have let him marry my daughterr'
Then he putrhis head out of the win
dow.
"Drive like fury" he cried to the
coachman; "don't spare the horses"
L He was obeyed. Wepassed the brides
carriage. forbore to look at it, and old
Forster turned his head away and swore.
We reached home before it.
We stood in the hall doorway, in the
blazing afternoon sun, and in about half
minute we heard wheels crunching the
gravel. When the carriage stopped in
front of the steps old Forster and / ran
down.
"Great heavens, the carriage is empty!
And yeti
had the door open in a minute, and
this is what / saw:
No sign of John Charrington; and of
May, his wife, only huddled heap of
white satin lying half on the floor of the
carriage and half on the seat.
81 drove straight here, sir" said the
coachman, as the brides father lifted her
out; "and I'll swear no one got out of the
carriage" IA
We carried her into the house in her
bridal dress and drew back her veil. I
saw her face. Shall l ever forget it?
White, white and drawn with agony and
horror, bearinglsuch look of terror as 1
have never seen since except in dreams.
And her hair, her radiant blond hair,
tell you it was white like snow.
As we stood har fa tbar oud half m al