"God bless you, my children," said the curate--"God abundantly bless
you"--and he laid one hand for an instant on Bet's head, and the other
on Will's--"but"--here he paused, and seemed to swallow something,
and the next words came out with difficulty: "I can't do what you wish.
I would gladly if it were possible; but it is not. If I were to say
the marriage service over you tonight, I should be breaking the laws
of the Church and the laws of England. I won't ask you what your need
is, but I am quite certain it is sore. I would give five pounds this
moment to be able to pronounce you two man and wife before you leave
this room. But it is impossible; the matter is not in my hands. Trust
in God, and wait until Thursday."
Bet rose to her feet without a word. All the color had left her cheeks,
and the sparkle her eyes; and the hand with which she tried to rearrange
her mother's shawl about her shoulders trembled violently.
"Good-bye, parson," she said; and she did not lift her eyes as she
turned away.
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