Her Faithful Knight — page 188: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

184 The Blow Falls. In similar discourse and much shedding of tears Darcy’s mother beguiled the time until, at two o’clock, the Stourton-Chepes arrived, and all four proceeded to the church where the ceremony was to be performed. In after life the scene would often pass again before Dorothy’s eyes as a dream, and not as any waking ex- perience. Lady Derrick, pale, stout and tearful, in her crepe-trimmed gown, drying her eyes with a black-edged lawn pocket handkerchief, and supported by Mrs. Stour- ton-Chepe, in her best gray silk gown—Mrs. Stourton- Chepe, whose hard face took on a look that was almost regretful when her eyes rested upon the bride. Mr. Wyverley, Mr. Coles and Mr. Stourton-Chepe stood close to the altar rails, looking very much alike in their regulation tall hats, frock coats, gray trousers, light gloves and white “button-holes’—well groomed, well bred, fresh colored and expressionless. Dorothy caught herself reflecting that Mr. Coles’ single eyeglass came as a boon to enable his friends to distinguish him among other young men. The Hon. Darcy himself was lividly pale; his hand, as it touched that of his bride’s, was cold and clammy, and the contact sent a chill through her. Was it the light from the stained-glass -window, she wondered, as she glanced quickly up into her bridegroom’s face, that spread so deathly a hue over his features and lit his eyes with so strange a fire? Wyverley was watching him, too, and wondering whether the fellow would be able to get through the service after the repeated brandies and sodas he had that morning drained to “pull himself together.” He had looked, as Wyverley phrased it, “more like going to his funeral than his wedding” an hour before—a helpless, nerveless, shivering wreck, and even now Wyverley feared lest at any moment he might break down. CoOmicboo KS (S@)