When the bustle of preparation had subsided, Lionel drew a chair from the chancel, while Job crouched by the side of the quivering iron he had heated, in that attitude he was wont to assume, and which so touchingly expressed the consciousness he felt of his own inferiority. As the grateful warmth diffused itself over the half-naked frame of the simpleton, his head sunk upon his bosom, and he was fast falling into a slumber, like a worried hound that had at length found ease and shelter. A more active mind would have wished to learn the reasons that could induce his companion to seek such an asylum at that unseasonable hour. But Job was a stranger to curiosity; nor did the occasional glimmerings of his mind often extend beyond those holy precepts which had been taught him with such care, before disease had sapped his faculties, or those popular principles of the time, that formed so essential a portion of the thoughts of every New-Englandman.
Not so with Major Lincoln. His watch told him that many weary minutes must elapse before he could expect his bride, and he disposed himself to wait with as much patience as comported with five-and-twenty, and the circumstances. In a short time the stillness of the chapel was interrupted only by the passing gusts of the wind without, and the dull roaring of the furnace by whose side Job slumbered in a state of happy oblivion.
Lionel endeavoured to still his truant thoughts, and bring them in training for the solemn ceremony in which he was to be an actor. Finding the task too difficult, he arose, and approaching a window, looked out upon the solitude, and the whirlwinds of snow that drifted through the streets, eagerly listening for those sounds of approach which his reason told him he ought not yet to expect. Again he seated himself, and turned his eyes inquiringly about him, with a sort of inward apprehension that some one lay concealed, in the surrounding gloom, with a secret design to mar his happiness. There was so much of wild and feverish romance in the incidents of the day, that he found it difficult, at moments, to credit their reality, and had recourse to hasty glances at the altar, his attire, and even his insensible companion, to remove the delusion. Again he looked upward at the unsteady and huge shadows which wavered along the ceiling and the walls, and his former apprehensions of some hidden evil were revived with a vividness that amounted nearly to a presentiment. So uneasy did he become, under this impression, that he walked along the more distant aisles, scrupulously looking into the pews, and throwing a scrutinizing glance behind each column, was rewarded for his trouble, by hearing the hollow echoes of his own footsteps.
In returning from this round he approached the stove, and yielded to a strong desire of listening to the voice of even Job, in a moment of such morbid excitement. Touching the simpleton lightly with his foot, the other awoke with that readiness which denoted the sudden and disturbed nature of his ordinary rest.
“You are unusually dull to-night, Job,” said Lionel, endeavouring to hush his uneasiness in affected pleasantry, “or you would inquire the reason why I pay a visit to the church at this extraordinary hour?”
“Boston folks love their meetin’us’s,” returned the simpleton.
“Ay! but they love their beds, too; and one-half of them are now enjoying what you seem to covet so much.”
“Job loves to eat, and to be warm!”
“And to sleep too, if one may judge by your drowsiness.”
“Sleep is sweet; Job don’t feel a-hungered when he’s sleeping.”
Lionel remained silent, under a keen perception of the suffering exhibited in the helplessness, which marked the manner of the other.
“I expect to be joined, soon, by the clergyman, and some ladies, and captain Polwarth.”
“Job likes captain Polwarth—he keeps a grand sight of provisions!”
“Enough of this! can you think of nothing but your stomach, boy?”
“God made hunger,” said Job, gloomily, “and he made food, too; but the king keeps it all for his rake-hellies!”
“Well, listen, and be attentive to what I tell you.—One of the ladies who will come here, is Miss Dynevor; you know Miss Dynevor, Job? the beautiful Miss Dynevor!”
The charms of Cecil had not, however, made their wonted impression on the dull eye of the idiot, who regarded the speaker with his customary air of apathy.
“Surely, Job, you know Miss Dynevor!” repeated Lionel, with an irritability that, any other time, he would have been the first to smile at—“she has often given you money and clothes.”
“Yes; Ma’am Lechmere is her grandam!”
This was certainly one of the least recommendations his mistress possessed, in the eyes of Lionel, who paused a moment, with inward vexation, before he added—
“Let who will be her relatives, she is this night to become my wife. You will remain and witness the ceremony, then you will extinguish the lights, and return the key of the church to Dr. Liturgy. In the morning come to me for your reward.”
The boy arose, with an air of importance, and answered—
“To be sure. Major Lincoln is to be married, and he asks Job to the wedding! Now, Nab may preach her sarmons about pride and flaunty feelings as much as she will; but blood is blood, and flesh is flesh, for all her sayings!”
Struck by the wild meaning that gleamed in the eyes of the simpleton, Major Lincoln demanded an explanation of his ambiguous language. But ere Job had leisure to reply, though his vacant look again denoted that his thoughts were already contracting themselves within their usually narrow limits, a noise drew the attention of both to the entrance of the chapel. The door opened in the next instant, and the figure of the divine, powdered with drifted snow, and encased in various defences against the cold, was seen, moving up the principal aisle. Lionel hastened to receive him, and to conduct him to the seat he had just occupied himself.
When Dr. Liturgy had uncloaked, and appeared in his robes of office, the benevolence of his smile, and the whole expression of his countenance, denoted that he was satisfied with the condition in which he found the preparations.
“There is no reason why a church should not be as comfortable as a man’s library, Major Lincoln,” he said, hitching his seat a little nearer to the stove. “It is a puritanical and a dissenting idea, that religion has any thing forbidding or gloomy in its nature; and wherefore should we assemble amid pains and inconvenience to discharge its sacred offices.”
“Quite true, sir,” returned Lionel, looking anxiously through one of the windows—“I have not yet heard the hour of ten strike, though my watch tells me it is time!”
“The weather renders the public clocks very irregular. There are so many unavoidable evils to which flesh is heir, that we should endeavour to be happy on all occasions—indeed it is a duty—”
“It’s not in the natur of sin to make fallen man happy,” said a low, growling voice behind the stove.
“Ha! what! did you speak, Major Lincoln—a very singular sentiment for a bridegroom!”
“’Tis that weak young man, whom I have brought hither to assist with the fires, repeating some of the lore of his mother; nothing else, sir.”
By this time Dr. Liturgy had caught a glimpse of the crouching Job, and comprehending the interruption, he fell back in his chair, smiling superciliously, as he continued—
“I know the lad, sir; I should know him. He is learned in the texts, and somewhat given to disputation in matters of religion. ’Tis a pity the little intellect he has, had not been better managed in infancy; but they have helped to crush his feeble mind with subtleties. We—I mean we of the established church—often style him the Boston Calvin—ha, ha, ha!—Old Cotton was not his equal in subtilty! but speaking of the establishment, do you not fancy that one of the consequences of this rebellion will be to extend its benefits to the colonies, and that we may look forward to the period when the true church shall possess its inheritance in these religious provinces?”
“Oh, most certainly,” said Lionel, again walking anxiously to the window;
“would to God they had come!”
The divine, with whom weddings were matters of too frequent occurrence to awaken his sympathies, understood the impatient bridegroom literally, and replied accordingly.
“I am glad to hear you say it, Major Lincoln, and I hope when the act of amnesty shall be passed, to find your vote on the side of such a condition.”
At this instant Lionel caught a glimpse of the well-known sleigh, moving slowly along the deserted street, and uttering a cry of pleasure, he rushed to the door to receive his bride. Dr. Liturgy finished his sentence to himself, and rising from his comfortable position, he took the light and entered the chancel. The disposition of the candles having been previously made, when they were lighted, his book opened, his robes adjusted, and his features settled into a suitable degree of solemnity, he stood, waiting with becoming dignity the approach of those over whom he was to pronounce the nuptial benediction. Job placed himself within the shadows of the building, and stood regarding the attitude and imposing aspect of the priest, with childish awe.
Then came a group, emerging from the obscurity of the distant part of the church, moving slowly toward the altar. Cecil was in front, leaning on that arm which Lionel had given her, as much for support, as through courtesy. She had removed her outer and warmer garments in the vestibule, and appeared, attired in a manner as well suited to the suddenness and privacy, as to the importance of the ceremony. A mantle of satin, trimmed with delicate furs, fell carelessly from her shoulders, partly concealing by its folds the proportions of her fine form. Beneath was a vestment of the same rich material, cut, after the fashions of that period, in a manner to give the exact outlines of the bust. Across the stomacher were deep rows of lace, and wide borders of the same valuable texture followed the retiring edges of her robe, leaving the costly dress within partly exposed to the eye. But the beauty and simplicity of her attire (it was simple for that day) was lost, or, rather, it served to adorn, unnoticed, the melancholy beauty of her countenance.
As they approached the priest, Cecil threw, by a gentle movement, her mantle on the rails of the chancel, and accompanied Lionel, with a firmer tread, to the foot of the altar. Her cheeks were pale; but it was rather with a compelled resolution than dread, while her eyes were full of tenderness and thought. Of the two devotees of Hymen, she exhibited, if not the most composure, certainly the most singleness of purpose and intentness on the duty before them; for while the looks of Lionel were stealing uneasily about the building, as if he expected some hidden object to start up out of the darkness, hers were riveted on the priest in sweet and earnest attention.
They paused in their alloted places; and after a moment was allowed for Agnes and Polwarth, who alone followed, to enter the chancel, the low but deep tones of the minister were heard.
Dr. Liturgy had borrowed a suitable degree of inspiration from the dreariness of the hour, and the solitude of the building. As he delivered the opening exhortation of the service, he made long and frequent pauses between the members of the sentences, giving to each injunction a distinct and impressive emphasis. But when he came to those closing words—
“If any man can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together let him now speak, or else, hereafter, for ever hold his peace.”
He lifted his voice, and raised his eyes to the more distant parts of the chapel, as if he addressed a multitude in the gloom. The faces of all present involuntarily followed the direction of his gaze, and a moment of deep expectation, which can only be explained by the singularly wild character of the scene, succeeded the reverberation of his tones. At that moment, when each had taken breath, and all were again turning to the altar, a huge shadow rose upon the gallery, and extended itself along the ceiling, until its gigantic proportions were seen hovering, like an evil spectre, nearly above them.
The clergyman suspended the half-uttered sentence. Cecil grasped the arm of Lionel convulsively, while a shudder, that seemed about to shake it to dissolution, passed through her frame.
The shadowy image then slowly withdrew, not without, however, throwing out a fantastic gesture, with an arm which stretched itself across the vaulted roof, and down the walls as if about to clutch its victims.
“If any man can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let him now speak, or else, hereafter, for ever hold his peace,” repeated the priest in a stronger tone, as if he would summon the universe at the challenge.
Again the shadow rose, presenting this time the huge lineaments of a human face, which it was not difficult, at such a moment, to fancy possessed expression and life. Its features seemed to work with emotion, and the lips moved as if the airy being was speaking to unearthly ears. Next came two arms, raised above the gazing group, with clasped hands, as in the act of benediction, after which the whole vanished, leaving the ceiling in its own dull white, and the building still as the graves which surrounded it.
Once more the excited minister uttered the summons; and again every eye was drawn, by a secret impulse, to a spot which seemed to possess the form without the substance of a human being. But the shadow was seen no more. After waiting several moments in vain, Dr. Liturgy proceeded, with a voice in which a growing tremor was very perceptible, but no further interruption was experienced to the end of the service.
Cecil pronounced her vows, and plighted her troth in tones of holy emotion, while Lionel, who was prepared for some strange calamity, went through the service to the end with a forced calmness. They were married; and when the blessing was uttered, not a sound nor a whisper was heard in the party. Silently they all turned away from the spot, and prepared to leave the place. Cecil passively permitted Lionel to wrap her form in the folds of her mantle, and when she would have smiled her thanks for the attention, she merely raised her anxious eyes to the ceiling, with an expression that could not be mistaken. Even Polwarth was mute; and Agnes forgot to offer those congratulations and good-wishes with which her heart had so recently been swelling.
The clergyman muttered a few words of caution to Job concerning the candles and the fire, and hurried after the retiring party with a quickness of step that he was willing to ascribe to the lateness of the hour, and with a total disregard of the safety of the edifice; leaving the chapel to the possession of the ill-gifted, but undisturbed son of Abigail Pray.
Chapter XXIII
“Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all;
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close;
And let us all to meditation.”
King Henry VI.
* * *
THE BRIDAL PARTY entered their little vehicle, silent and thoughtful; the voice of Polwarth being alone audible as he gave a few low and hurried orders to the groom. Dr. Liturgy approached, and made his compliments, when the sleigh darted away from before the building, as swiftly as if the horse partook of the secret uneasiness of those it held. The movements of the divine, though less rapid, were equally diligent, and in less than a minute the winds whistled, and clouds of snow were driven through a street, which every thing possessing life appeared once more to have abandoned.
The instant Polwarth had discharged his load, at the door of Mrs. Lechmere, he muttered something of “happiness and to-morrow,” which his friend did not understand, and dashed through the gate of the court-yard, at the same mad rate that he had driven from the church. On entering the house, Agnes repaired to the room of her aunt, to report that the marriage knot was tied, while Lionel led his silent bride into the empty parlour.
Cecil stood, fixed and motionless as a statue, while her husband removed her cloak and mantle; her cheeks pale, her eyes riveted on the floor, and her whole attitude and manner exhibiting the intensity of thought which had been created by the scene in which she had just been an actor. When he had relieved her from the load of garments in which she had been enveloped by his care, he impelled her gently to a seat, on the settee, and for the first time since sh
e had uttered the final vow at the altar, she spoke—
“Was it a fearful omen!” she whispered, as he folded her to his heart, “or was it no more than a horrid fancy!”
“’Twas nothing, love—’twas a shadow—that of Job Pray, who was with me to light the fires.”
“No—no—no,” said Cecil, speaking with rapidity, and in tones that gathered strength as she proceeded—“Those were never the unmeaning features of the miserable simpleton! Know, you, Lincoln, that in the terrific outlines of those dreadful lineaments on the wall, I fancied a resemblance to the profile of our great uncle, your father’s predecessor in the title—Dark Sir Lionel, as he was called!”
“It was easy to fancy any thing, at such a time, and under such circumstances. Do not cloud the happiness of our bridal by these gloomy fancies!”
“Am I gloomy or superstitious by habit, Lincoln?—But it came at such a moment, and in such a shape, that I should be more than woman not to tremble at its terrible import!”
“What is it you dread, Cecil? Are we not married; lawfully, solemnly united?” The bride shuddered; but perceiving her unwilling, or unable to answer, he continued—“beyond the power of man to sever; and with the consent, nay, by the earnest wish, the command of the only being who can have a right to express a wish, or to have an opinion on the subject?”
“I believe—that is I think, it is all as you say,” returned Cecil, still looking about her with a vacant air that curdled his blood; “yes—we are certainly married; and Oh! how ardently do I implore Him who sees and governs all things, that our union may be blessed! but”—
The Spy & Lionel Lincoln Page 80