waited for it—vexations, rather, that I had been fool enough to wait so long.
At length however, I entered the neighbourhood of Grass-dale. I approached the little rural church—but lo! there stood a train of carriages before it—it needed not the white favours bedecking the servants and horses, nor the merry voices of the village idlers assembled to witness the show, to apprize me that there was a wedding within. I ran in among them, demanding, with breathless eagerness, had the ceremony long commenced? They only gaped and stared. In my desperation I pushed past them, and was about to enter the church-yard gate, when a group of ragged urchins, that had been hanging like bees to the windows, suddenly dropped off and made a rush for the porch, vociferating in the uncooth dialect of their country, something which signified, "It's over—they're coming out!"
If Eliza Millward had seen me then, she might indeed have been delighted. I grasped the gate-post for support, and stood intently
