But there were no
separate shrines, no images, no display of chalice or crucifix on
the altar. It was, therefore, a Protestant church upon the
Continent. A clergyman dressed in the Geneva gown and band stood
by the communion table, and, with the Bible opened before him,
and his clerk awaiting in the background, seemed prepared to
perform some service of the church to which he belonged.
At length, there entered the middle aisle of the building a
numerous party, which appeared to be a bridal one, as a lady and
gentleman walked first, hand in hand, followed by a large
concourse of persons of both sexes, gaily, nay richly, attired.
The bride, whose features they could distinctly see, seemed not
more than sixteen years old, and extremely beautiful. The
bridegroom, for some seconds, moved rather with his shoulder
towards them, and his face averted; but his elegance of form and
step struck the sisters at once with the same apprehension. As
he turned his face suddenly, it was frightfully realized, and
they saw, in the gay bridegroom before them, Sir Philip Forester.
His wife uttered an imperfect exclamation, at the sound of which
the whole scene stirred and seemed to separate.
"I could compare it to nothing," said Lady Bothwell, while
recounting the wonderful tale, "but to the dispersion of the
reflection offered by a deep and calm pool, when a stone is
suddenly cast into it, and the shadows become dissipated and
broken.
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