Half a dozen lamps with bright
tin reflectors behind them, like halos, were fastened to brackets high up
on the walls. The young couple stopped when they reached the platform, and
at Mr. Bradley's request joined their hands. He had opened the prayer-book
at the marriage service, and was beginning to read it, when he gave a
start. Far away down the turnpike, faint but unmistakable--now dying away
into a mere murmur, now rising clear and bold--came the sound of galloping
horses. The Colonel felt the girl's hand cold in his, and he whispered a
word of encouragement. Mr. Bradley hurried on with the ceremony. The
centuries-old questions, so often asked beneath splendid domes before
fashionable assemblages to the accompaniment of triumphant music, were
never answered with more truth and fervor than in that little roadside
church, with no one to hear them but the listening trees and the heart of
the night wind.
"Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife? Wilt thou love her, comfort
her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all
others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"
How he pressed the trembling little hand in his, and how devotedly he
answered, "I will.
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