Elizabeth sat down on a straight hard chair in the drawing-room. It was as though she were in a dentist’s waiting-room. Something inside her was thumping, thumping. The drawing-room was unreal, Lawrence too, and herself. Ten to twelve ... on any other day she would just be coming into the house after a morning’s shopping. To-day she sat attendant upon an unknown fate, in the drawing-room, clasping in her hands a great sheaf of pale lilies.

And now that the moment was so close when she would step out of the old life into the new, an intangible dread took possession of her, numbing her faculties towards every feeling but the one fear that she was walking blindfold on the brink of a precipice, and that one careless step might send her over the edge, to smash upon the rocks she knew to lurk in the abyss.

“Couldn’t have had a better day,” Lawrence said, standing, watch in hand, at the window.

“No. Isn’t it perfect?” she answered.

“Car ought to be here any minute now. What about putting your coat on?” He held it ready, and managed to gather up her veil in one hand.

She felt more than ever that she was in the dentist’s waiting-room, and that soon, very soon, the door would open and a sepulchral voice say, Miss Arden, please!

“Here it is!” Lawrence exclaimed. “Is my button-hole all right, Elizabeth?”

“Yes, quite,” she said. “Ought—ought we to start?”

“Yes, we’re a bit late. Doesn’t matter, of course, but if you’re ready—?”

“Quite,” she said, gathering up her train.

The bridesmaids were in the church porch, laughing and talking. One of them cried, Here she is! and suddenly Elizabeth realised that she was the chief figure to-day, and that they were all waiting for her. Somewhere within the church people were turning to see whether she were coming; she would have to walk up the aisle, between the rows of smiling faces, until she reached the place where Stephen stood, with the capable John.

She laid her little cold hand on her father’s arm; someone spread out her train behind her; Lawrence whispered fondly in her ear. They went out of the golden sunshine into the cool grey church.

She saw nothing, could distinguish no one in the blurred mass of people, until she felt her hand taken in a strong clasp and knew that Stephen was there. He said something; she did not know what it was, but she smiled and fixed her eyes on the black and white thing before her that was the clergyman.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered together . . .

What a lot he was saying in that queer, droning voice . . . what was it all about? Marriage, and something to do with children. How strong the lilies smelt!

Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour . . .

He was speaking now to Stephen. It was beautiful.

In sickness and in health.