Perhaps she scarcely knew herself, so madly had she been whirled along in
the vortex to which she had committed herself. But possibly during the
ceremony some vague realisation of what she was doing came upon her, for
she made her vows with a face as white as death, and in a voice that
never once rose above a whisper.
But when she came at last down the church-yard path upon her husband's
arm, she was laughing merrily enough. Some enthusiast had flung a shower
of rice over his uncovered head, to his obvious discomfiture.
He did not laugh with her. His smooth, heavy-jawed face was absolutely
unresponsive. He was fifteen years her senior, and he looked it to the
full. The hair grew far back upon his head, and it had a sprinkling of
grey. His height was unremarkable, but he had immensely powerful
shoulders, and a bull-like breadth of chest, that imparted a certain
air of arrogance to his gait. His black brows met shaggily over eyes of
sombre brown. Undeniably a formidable personage, this!
Nan, glancing at him as she entered the carriage, harboured for a
moment the startled reflection that if he had a beard nothing could
have restrained her just then from screaming and running away. But,
fortunately for her quaking dignity, his face, with the exception of
those menacing eyebrows, and the lashes that shaded his gloomy eyes, was
wholly free from hair.
Driving away from the church with its two clanging bells, she made a
resolute effort to shake off the scared feeling that had so possessed her
when she had stood at the altar with this man.
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