"Anna Theresa Lensky"--what a vain, independent minx she
was! The bridegroom, slender in his black swallow-tail and grey
trousers, solemn as a young solemn cat, was writing
seriously: "William Brangwen."
That looked more like it.
"Come and sign, father," cried the imperious young hussy.
"Thomas Brangwen--clumsy-fist," he said to himself as he
signed.
Then his brother, a big, sallow fellow with black
side-whiskers wrote: "Alfred Brangwen."
"How many more Brangwens?" said Tom Brangwen, ashamed of the
too-frequent recurrence of his family name.
When they were out again in the sunshine, and he saw the
frost hoary and blue among the long grass under the tomb-stones,
the holly-berries overhead twinkling scarlet as the bells rang,
the yew trees hanging their black, motionless, ragged boughs,
everything seemed like a vision.
The marriage party went across the graveyard to the wall,
mounted it by the little steps, and descended. Oh, a vain white
peacock of a bride perching herself on the top of the wall and
giving her hand to the bridegroom on the other side, to be
helped down! The vanity of her white, slim, daintily-stepping
feet, and her arched neck. And the regal impudence with which
she seemed to dismiss them all, the others, parents and wedding
guests, as she went with her young husband.
In the cottage big fires were burning, there were dozens of
glasses on the table, and holly and mistletoe hanging up. The
wedding party crowded in, and Tom Brangwen, becoming roisterous,
poured out drinks. Everybody must drink. The bells were ringing
away against the windows.
"Lift your glasses up," shouted Tom Brangwen from the
parlour, "lift your glasses up, an' drink to the hearth an'
home--hearth an' home, an' may they enjoy it."
"Night an' day, an' may they enjoy it," shouted Frank
Brangwen, in addition.
"Hammer an' tongs, and may they enjoy it," shouted Alfred
Brangwen, the saturnine.
"Fill your glasses up, an' let's have it all over again,"
shouted Tom Brangwen.
"Hearth an' home, an' may ye enjoy it."
There was a ragged shout of the company in response.
"Bed an' blessin', an' may ye enjoy it," shouted Frank
Brangwen.
There was a swelling chorus in answer.
"Comin' and goin', an' may ye enjoy it," shouted the
saturnine Alfred Brangwen, and the men roared by now boldly, and
the women said, "Just hark, now!"
There was a touch of scandal in the air.
Then the party rolled off in the carriages, full speed back
to the Marsh, to a large meal of the high-tea order, which
lasted for an hour and a half. The bride and bridegroom sat at
the head of the table, very prim and shining both of them,
wordless, whilst the company raged down the table.
The Brangwen men had brandy in their tea, and were becoming
unmanageable. The saturnine Alfred had glittering, unseeing
eyes, and a strange, fierce way of laughing that showed his
teeth. His wife glowered at him and jerked her head at him like
a snake. He was oblivious. Frank Brangwen, the butcher, flushed
and florid and handsome, roared echoes to his two brothers. Tom
Brangwen, in his solid fashion, was letting himself go at
last.