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TWENTY-SEVENTH CHAPTER

As my wedding-day approached and time ran short, the air of joy which
had pervaded our house was driven out by an atmosphere of irritation. We
were all living on our nerves. The smiles that used to be at everybody's
service gave place to frowns, and, in Aunt Bridget's case, to angry
words which were distributed on all sides and on all occasions.
As a consequence I took refuge in my room, and sat long hours there in
my dressing-gown and slippers, hearing the hubbub that was going on in
the rest of the house, but taking as little part in it as possible. In
this semi-conventual silence and solitude, the excitement which had
swept me along for three weeks subsided rapidly.
I began to think, and above all to feel, and the one thing I felt beyond
everything else was a sense of something wanting.
I remembered the beautiful words of the Pope about marriage as a mystic
relation, a sacred union of souls, a bond of love such as Christ's love
for His Church, and I asked myself if I felt any such love for the man
who was to become my husband.


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