Bessy Cranage, in her neatest cap and frock, was crying, though she did not exactly know why; for, as her cousin Wiry Ben, who stood near her, judiciously suggested, Dinah was not going away, and if Bessy was in low spirits, the best thing for her to do was to follow Dinah’s example and marry an honest fellow who was ready to have her.  Next to Bessy, just within the church door, there were the Poyser children, peeping round the corner of the pews to get a sight of the mysterious ceremony; Totty’s face wearing an unusual air of anxiety at the idea of seeing cousin Dinah come back looking rather old, for in Totty’s experience no married people were young.

I envy them all the sight they had when the marriage was fairly ended and Adam led Dinah out of church.  She was not in black this morning, for her Aunt Poyser would by no means allow such a risk of incurring bad luck, and had herself made a present of the wedding dress, made all of grey, though in the usual Quaker form, for on this point Dinah could not give way.  So the lily face looked out with sweet gravity from under a grey Quaker bonnet, neither smiling nor blushing, but with lips trembling a little under the weight of solemn feelings.  Adam, as he pressed her arm to his side, walked with his old erectness and his head thrown rather backward as if to face all the world better.  But it was not because he was particularly proud this morning, as is the wont of bridegrooms, for his happiness was of a kind that had little reference to men’s opinion of it.  There was a tinge of sadness in his deep joy; Dinah knew it, and did not feel aggrieved.

There were three other couples, following the bride and bridegroom:  first, Martin Poyser, looking as cheery as a bright fire on this rimy morning, led quiet Mary Burge, the bridesmaid; then came Seth serenely happy, with Mrs. Poyser on his arm; and last of all Bartle Massey, with Lisbeth—­Lisbeth in a new gown and bonnet, too busy with her pride in her son and her delight in possessing the one daughter she had desired to devise a single pretext for complaint.

Bartle Massey had consented to attend the wedding at Adam’s earnest request, under protest against marriage in general and the marriage of a sensible man in particular.  Nevertheless, Mr. Poyser had a joke against him after the wedding dinner, to the effect that in the vestry he had given the bride one more kiss than was necessary.

Behind this last couple came Mr. Irwine, glad at heart over this good morning’s work of joining Adam and Dinah.  For he had seen Adam in the worst moments of his sorrow; and what better harvest from that painful seed-time could there be than this?  The love that had brought hope and comfort in the hour of despair, the love that had found its way to the dark prison cell and to poor Hetty’s darker soul—­this strong gentle love was to be Adam’s companion and helper till death.