A Son of Ishmael by L.T. Meade — Read

Adrian Rowton kept his word to the letter. His iron will seemed to bend all things to his wishes. Nancy Follett forgot her father's dying injunctions. Long John in his lair in London remained passive. Samson did not dare to utter a word. Rowton went backwards and forwards day by day from London to Andover. The special licence was procured-the rector was asked to come to church to perform his duty; and on a certain dull morning early in December, when the snow lay on the ground and the world was steeped in a winter's fog, Nancy Follett stood by Adrian Rowton's side and was made, with the full blessing of the Church, his lawful wedded wife.

The marriage was so unusual, so sudden and unexpected, that early as the hour was, the little church was filled. The men and women of the neighbourhood, who had noticed the girl in church with the interest people will always give to a mysterious, little known person, came to see her wedded. She made a very beautiful bride. Her white dress, perfectly simple and unbridal in its material, but enhanced the extreme fairness of her face; excitement had lent colour to her cheeks and made her dark grey eyes look almost black. Adrian Rowton's height and magnificent physique were commented on by everyone. As he walked down the church with Nancy's hand resting on his arm, he nodded to his friends, but Nancy kept her eyes lowered; she did not know anyone, and did not care to receive the smiles of strangers. The bridal pair went back to the Grange, where Nancy hastily changed her white dress for a somewhat shabby-looking travelling costume-it was the best she could make up at short notice-and in a carriage and pair the couple started for the railway station _en route_ for Paris.