Page:Maud Howe - Atlanta in the South.djvu/343

 It had come at last, that hour which Robert Feuardent had so ardently desired. The bells of the little church, which was still brave with the triumph of the Harvest, rang out merrily. Bouton de Rose came to the door of his room in the village inn and warned him that the time had come when they should start for the church. He was a pale bridegroom, almost as pale as he had been that day when Margaret had seen him at the Hôtel-Dieu; but he had never looked handsomer in his life, his bride thought, than at that moment when he turned from the altar and made one involuntary step to meet her as she came up the aisle, all smiles and flowers and blushes, leaning on the General's arm. The bells rang out merrily. The old sexton, who had seen Margaret christened, pulled lustily at the rope, and the air was full of the joyous marriage-peal, echoing from woodland aisle to village street. To Margaret's ears the chime was full of melody; to Robert it seemed like the silver note of a celestial clarion summoning him to the joy and triumph of his love. To the ears of Sara Harden the bells had a sinister sound. She heard one note, brazen and hoarse as an alarm, swinging through the linked sounds, killing the merriment and turning it to a melancholy minor key. She stood before her mirror, dressed out in all her finery, the prettiest