The time is morning; the date is early in the month of November. The place is a
church, in a poor and populous parish in the undiscovered regions of London,
eastward of the Tower, and hard by the river-side.
A marriage procession of five approaches the altar The bridegroom is pale, and
the bride is frightened. The bride's friend (a resolute-looking little lady)
encourages her in whispers. The two respectable persons, apparently man and
wife, who complete the procession, seem to be not quite clear as to the position
which they occupy at the ceremony. The beadle, as he marshals them before the
altar, sees something under the surface in this wedding-party. Marriages in the
lower ranks of life are the only marriages celebrated here. Is this a runaway
match? The beadle anticipates something out of the common in the shape of a
The clergyman (the junior curate) appears from the vestry in his robes. The clerk
takes his place. The clergyman's eye rests with a sudden interest and curiosity
on the bride and bridegroom, and on the bride's friend; notices the absence of
elderly relatives; remarks, in the two ladies especially, evidences of refinement
and breeding entirely unparalleled in his professional experience of brides and
brides' friends standing before the altar of that church; questions, silently and
quickly, the eye of the clerk, occupied also in observing the strangers with
interest "Jenkinson" (the clergyman's look asks), "is this all right?" "Sir" (the
clerk's look answers), "a marriage by banns; all the formalities have been
observed." The clergyman opens his book. The formalities have been observed;
his duty lies plainly before him. Attention, Launcelot! Courage, Natalie! The
service begins.
Launce casts a last furtive look round the church. Will Sir Joseph Graybrooke
start up and stop it from one of the empty pews? Is Richard Turlington lurking in
the organ-loft, and only waiting till the words of the service appeal to him to
