the
hour of eight
Fatigued from the long journey , so much of it accomplished by tiresome , lumbering stage-coaches , these two travelling companions gladly alighted at the Melrose Tavern , and eagerly sought the refreshments its simple hospitality afforded . IN the quiet little parlor of Widow Heartwell , in the early May morning , the tender breeze stole in and out of the window , fluttering the muslin curtain and filling the apartment with delicious perfume . In the same parlor a few chosen friends were assembled , to witness the solemn ceremony that was to deprive them of the pride and favorite of the village . As the dial upon the delicate face of the little bronze clock on the mantel marked the hour of eight , the flutter of robes and the rustling of footsteps ushered in the expectant pair , and at once all the guests arose . Pale and trembling , Mrs. Heartwell took her place beside her daughter , as she stood before the venerable minister . For years the Rev. Mr. Pratt had been their pastor and spiritual adviser , and his heart was filled with deep emotion as he pronounced the solemn words that bound this child of his love and watchful care to her husband , to be `` His servitor for aye . '' Amid smothered sobs , he invoked Heaven 's benediction upon their wedded hearts , praying that , as love had directed this union , so love might attend them , even unto death .