On the Sunday when he and his bride first appeared in the
meeting-house Evelina went up the aisle behind her father in an array
of flowered brocade, stiff with threads of silver, so wonderful that
people all turned their heads to stare at her. She wore also a new
bonnet of rose-colored satin, and her curls were caught back a
little, and her face showed as clear and beautiful as an angel's.
The young bridegroom glanced at her once across the meeting-house,
then he looked at his bride in her gay wedding finery with a faithful
look.
When Evelina met them in the doorway, after meeting was done, she
bowed with a sweet cold grace to the bride, who courtesied blushingly
in return, with an awkward sweep of her foot in the bridal satin
shoe. The bridegroom did not look at Evelina at all. He held his chin
well down in his stock with solemn embarrassment, and passed out
stiffly, his bride on his arm.
Evelina, shining in the sun like a silver lily, went up the street,
her father stalking beside her with stately swings of his cane, and
that was the last time she was ever seen at meeting. Nobody knew why.
When Evelina was a little over thirty her father died. There was not
much active grief for him in the village; he had really figured
therein more as a stately monument of his own grandeur than anything
else.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25