The old vicarage : $b A novelHubback, Mrs. (Catherine-Anne Austen)
General
The old vicarage : $b A novel
Hubback, Mrs. (Catherine-Anne Austen)
English fiction -- 19th century
So her mind wandered away while her eyes were fixed on the passing
houses and the flying trees, to scenes where all would be certainty,
and enjoyment, and peace; and as she looked upward at the clear, blue
sky; unsullied by the smoke, and undisturbed by the noise and bustle
of the vast city, whose long suburbs they were traversing, she thought
of that future which alone may be depended on, that love which never
wearies or grows cold, that protecting care which can not err nor
cease. She remembered that her lover and herself had alike anchored
their hearts there, with the sure anchor of Hope, her restless fears
dispersed, and her heart grew calm and quiet.
There was no hinderance, no delay; the drive to Woolwich had been so
accurately calculated, that they reached the church within two minutes
of the time appointed; the gentlemen were ready, waiting their
arrival, and after a very brief interval more, the couple stood side
by side, and hand in hand, to answer those words which bound them for
life to each other.
Concentrating every feeling in the present moment, giving her whole
heart and soul to the words she was repeating, and the prayers in
which she was called on to join, the bride forgot all that was
immediately to follow, and went through with a calm, grave,
self-possession her part in the short and yet impressive ceremony.
And they were pronounced to be man and wife; and it was over, and the
party gathered in the vestry to sign the register, and whisper a few
subdued words of good wishes (for who could talk of congratulations or
joy at that moment?) and Hilary awoke to a consciousness that it was
all real. She leaned against the end of the table, while her husband
held her hand in silent, speechless, subdued emotion; as if nerving
his whole frame, gathering all his strength of mind for the great
trial before them. It needed not words to tell her how he felt; she
knew it in the close and tender clasp of those fingers on her own; she
read it in the grave, sad look of his eyes, in the lines of emotion
about his mouth, which his utmost efforts could not conceal.
However, the parting need not be immediately, there was yet an hour of
reprieve; the tide would not serve till afternoon for the steamer to
leave the dock, and it had been before arranged, that the wedding
guests should all go to the hotel, where a second breakfast, most
acceptable to those who had left London so early, was prepared for
them by the bridegroom’s orders; as in the _Erratic_, in her present
state, it was not convenient to receive such a party. But what was the
use of lingering at such a time? true, every minute was precious, and
yet every minute was pain. Little mirth and little conversation was
there at that board, where even yet the time, though dull, went all
too fast.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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