"Mark her pale face, naybours," put in a woman; "an' Tresidder, he looks
like a man that's neither got nor lost."

"Trew, trew."

"Quarter past the hour, I make it," said Old Zeb, pulling out his
timepiece.

Still the bridegroom tarried.

Higher up the church, in the front pew but one, Modesty Prowse said
aloud to Sarah Ann Nan Julian--

"If he doesn' look sharp, we'll be married before she after all."

Ruby heard the sneer, and answered it with a look of concentrated spite.
Probably she would have risked her dignity to retort, had not Parson
Babbage advanced down the chancel at this juncture.

"Has anyone seen the bridegroom to-day?" he inquired of Tresidder.
"Or will you send some one to hurry him?"

"Be danged if I know," the farmer began testily, mopping his bald head,
and then he broke off, catching sound of a stir among the folk behind.

"Here he be--here he be at last!" cried somebody. And with that a hush
of bewilderment fell on the congregation.

In the doorway, flushed with running and glorious in bridal attire,