and no more.
On the day of the
wedding, after a
feeble struggle with himself,
he
actually sacrificed his patients and their guineas, and slipped
away
secretly to see the marriage. To the end of his life,
he was angry with anybody who reminded him of what he had done on
that day!
The
wedding was
strictly private. A close
carriage stood at
the church door; a few people,
mostly of the lower class, and
mostlyold women, were scattered about the
interior of the building.
Here and there Doctor Wybrow detected the faces of some of his
brethren of the club, attracted by
curiosity, like himself.
Four persons only stood before the altar--the bride and bridegroom
and their two witnesses. One of these last was an
elderly woman,
who might have been the Countess's
companion or maid; the other
was
undoubtedly her brother, Baron Rivar. The
bridal party
(the bride herself included) wore their ordinary morning costume.
Lord Montbarry,
personally viewed, was a
middle-aged military man
of the ordinary type: nothing in the least
remarkabledistinguishedhim either in face or figure. Baron Rivar, again, in his way was
another
conventional representative of another
well-known type.
One sees his finely-
pointed moustache, his bold eyes,
his crisply-curling hair, and his
dashingcarriage of the head,
repeated hundreds of times over on the Boulevards of Paris.
The only noteworthy point about him was of the
negative sort--
he was not in the least like his sister. Even the officiating
priest was only a
harmless, humble-looking old man, who went through
his duties resignedly, and felt
visible rheumatic difficulties
every time he bent his knees. The one
remarkable person,
the Countess herself, only raised her veil at the beginning
of the
ceremony, and presented nothing in her plain dress that was
worth a second look. Never, on the face of it, was there a less
interesting and less
romantic marriage than this. From time to time
the Doctor glanced round at the door or up at the galleries,
vaguely anticipating the appearance of some protesting stranger,
in possession of some terrible secret, commissioned to forbid
the progress of the service. Nothing in the shape of an event occurred--
nothing
extraordinary, nothing
dramatic. Bound fast together as man
and wife, the two disappeared, followed by their witnesses, to sign
the registers; and still Doctor Wybrow waited, and still he cherished
the
obstinate hope that something worth
seeing must certainly
happen yet.
The
interval passed, and the married couple, returning to the church,
walked together down the nave to the door. Doctor Wybrow
drew back as they approached. To his
confusion and surprise,
the Countess discovered him. He heard her say to her husband,
'One moment; I see a friend.' Lord Montbarry bowed and waited.
She stepped up to the Doctor, took his hand, and wrung it hard.
He felt her overpowering black eyes looking at him through
her veil. 'One step more, you see, on the way to the end!'
She whispered those strange words, and returned to her husband.
Before the Doctor could recover himself and follow her,
Lord and Lady Montbarry had stepped into their
carriage, and had
driven away.
Outside the church door stood the three or four members of the club who,
like Doctor Wybrow, had watched the
ceremony out of
curiosity.
Near them was the bride's brother,
waiting alone. He was
evidently bent
on
seeing the man whom his sister had
spoken to, in broad daylight.
His bold eyes rested on the Doctor's face, with a
momentary flash
of
suspicion in them. The cloud suddenly cleared away; the Baron
smiled with
charmingcourtesy, lifted his hat to his sister's friend,
and walked off.
The members constituted themselves into a club conclave on the
church steps. They began with the Baron. 'Damned ill-looking rascal!'
They went on with Montbarry. 'Is he going to take that horrid
woman with him to Ireland?' 'Not he! he can't face the tenantry;