In all her life she had never done so before, and when she
came round she was not like herself; in all probability the persistence
and wilfulness she, who was usually so meek and docile, showed during the
next twenty-four hours, was the consequence of fever. She resolved to be
present at the wedding; numbers were going; she would be unseen,
unnoticed in the crowd; but whatever befell, go she would, and neither
the tears nor the prayers of Miss Monro could keep her back. She gave no
reason for this determination; indeed, in all probability she had none to
give; so there was no arguing the point. She was inflexible to entreaty,
and no one had any authority over her, except, perhaps, distant Mr. Ness.
Miss Monro had all sorts of forebodings as to the possible scenes that
might come to pass. But all went on as quietly as though the fullest
sympathy pervaded every individual of the great numbers assembled. No
one guessed that the muffled, veiled figure, sitting in the shadow behind
one of the great pillars, was that of one who had once hoped to stand at
the altar with the same bridegroom, who now cast tender looks at the
beautiful bride; her veil white and fairy-like, Ellinor's black and
shrouding as that of any nun.
Already Mr. Corbet's name was known through the country as that of a
great lawyer; people discussed his speeches and character far and wide;
and the well-informed in legal gossip spoke of him as sure to be offered
a judgeship at the next vacancy.
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