It was too late to leave. The wedding procession had started. In the dingy little church I watched the principals try to enact a scene of fashionable splendor. There was a little flower-girl who forgot to strew her flowers before the bride; a page who stumbled and went scurrying after the ring; an usher who persisted in grinning at the unaccustomedness of his high silk hat.
But no one smiled. And when the bride entered there was a sudden, hushed silence, as though everyone had taken one long, deep breath. I watched her as she walked down the aisle, this little twentieth- century bride. As is the way of unruly imaginations, I pictured her bride of long ago. Did she realize that she was actually observing certain ceremonial rites that were practiced thousands of years ago? Did she realize that the traditions so dear to her heart-so dear to bride-hearts the world over-were based upon the fears and superstitions of primitive man, upon age-old customs that had been handed down to her through many generations?
Why was her wedding gown white? Why not pink, or green, or yellow? Why were there orange blossoms on her veil? Indeed, why 2 veil at all? And the wedding ring, the bridal procession, the handful of rice-surely they had some meaning. The ceremony did not last long. In half an hour it was over. The little church was deserted; nothing remained but a trampled rose or two. But something had happened to me. I had glimpsed behind the pages of history and saw promise of a treasure rarer than any in the Valley of the Kings!
Like another Lord Carnarvon I set out to explore the pages of the past. I traversed the centuries and came, trembling, upon the cradle of the human race.
**Contents and Sample Pages**
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