University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.
NELLIE'S BRIDAL NIGHT.

The blind girl sat alone in her chamber, listening to
the sound of merry voices in the hall without, or the patter
of feet, as the fast arriving guests tripped up and
down the stairs. She had heard the voice of J. C. De
Vere as he passed her door, but it awoke within her bosom
no lingering regret, and when an hour later, Nellie
stood before her, arrayed in her bridal robes, she passed
her hand caressingly over the flowing curls, the fair, round
face, the satin dress, and streaming veil, saying as she did
so, “I know you are beautiful, my sister, and if a blind
girl's blessing can be of any avail, you have it most cordially.”

Both Mrs. Kennedy and Nellie had urged Maude to be
present at the ceremony, but she shrank from the gaze of
strangers, and preferred remaining in her room, an arrangement
quite satisfactory to J. C., who did not care to
meet her then. It seemed probable that some of the
guests would go up to see her, and knowing this, Mrs.
Kennedy had arranged her curls and dress with unusual
care, saying to her as she kissed her pale cheek, “You are
far more beautiful than the bride.”

And Maude was beautiful. Recent suffering and nonexposure
to the open air had imparted a delicacy to her

complexion, which harmonized well with the mournful
expression of her face, and the idea of touching helplessness
which her presence inspired. Her long, fringed
eyelashes rested upon her cheek, and her short, glossy
curls were never more becomingly arranged than now,
when stepping backward a pace or two, Mrs. Kennedy
stopped a moment to admire her again, ere going below
where her presence was already needed.

The din of voices grew louder in the hall, there was a
tread of many feet upon the stairs, succeeded by a solemn
hush, and Maude, listening to every sound, knew that the
man to whom she had been plighted, was giving to another
his marriage vow. She had no love for J. C. De Vere,
but as she sat there alone in her desolation, and thoughts
of her sister's happiness rose up in contrast to her own
dark, hopeless lot, who shall blame her if she covered
her face with her hands, and wept most bitterly. Poor
Maude! It was dark, dark night within, and dark, dark
night without; and her dim eye could not penetrate the
gloom, nor see the star which hung o'er the brow of the
distant hill, where a way-worn man was toiling on. Days
and nights had he traveled, unmindful of fatigue, while
his throbbing heart outstript the steam-god by many a
mile.

The letter had fulfilled its mission, and with one wild
burst of joy when he read that she was free, he started
for the north. He was not expected at the wedding, but
it would be a glad surprise, he knew, and he pressed untiringly
on, thinking but one thought, and that, how he
would comfort the poor, blind Maude. He did not know
that even then her love belonged to him, but he could win

it, perhaps, and then away to sunny France, where many a
wonderful cure had been wrought, and might be wrought
again.

The bridal was over, and the congratulations nearly so,
when a stranger was announced, an uninvited guest, and
from his arm chair in the corner, Louis saw that it was
the same kind face which had bent so fearlessly over his
pillow little more than six months before. James De
Vere—the name was echoed from lip to lip, but did
not penetrate the silent chamber where Maude sat weeping
yet.

A rapid glance through the rooms assured the young
man that she was not there: and when the summons to
supper was given, he went to Louis and asked him for
his sister.

“She is up-stairs,” said Louis, adding impulsively, “She
will be glad you have come, for she has talked of you so
much.”

“Talked of me!” and the eyes of James De Vere looked
earnestly into Louis's face. “And does she talk of me
still?”

“Yes,” said Louis, “I heard her once when she was
asleep, though I ought not to have mentioned it,” he continued,
suddenly recollecting himself, “for when I told
her, she blushed so red, and bade me not to tell.”

“Take me to her, will you?” said Mr. De Vere, and
following his guide, he was soon opposite the door of
Maude's room.

“Wait a moment,” he exclaimed, passing his fingers
through his hair, and trying in vain to brush from his
coat the dust which had settled there.

“It don't matter, for she can't see,” said Louis, who
comprehended at once the feelings of his companion.

By this time they stood within the chamber, but so absorbed
was Maude in her own grief, that she did not hear
her brother, until he bent over her and whispered in her
ear, “Wake, sister, if you're sleeping. He's come. He's
here!”

She had no need to ask of him who had come. She knew
intuitively, and starting up, her unclosed eyes flashed eagerly
around the room, turning at last toward the door
where she felt that he was standing. James De Vere
remained motionless, watching intently the fair, troubled
face, which had never seemed so fair to him before.

“Brother, have you deceived me? Where is he?”
she said at last, as her listening ear caught no new sound.

“Here, Maude, here,” and gliding to her side, Mr. De
Vere wound his arm around her, and kissing her lips,
called her by the name to which she was getting accustomed,
and which never sounded so soothingly as when
breathed by his melodious voice. “My poor, blind
Maude,” was all he said, but by the clasp of his warm
hand, by the tear she felt upon her cheek, and by his very
silence she knew how deeply he sympathized with her.

Knowing that they would rather be alone, Louis went
below, where many inquiries were making for the guest
who had so suddenly disappeared. The interview between
the two was short, for some of Maude's acquaintance came up
to see her, but it sufficed for Mr. De Vere to learn all that he
cared particularly to know then. Maude did not love J. C.,
whose marriage with another caused her no regret, and
this knowledge made the future seem hopeful and bright.
It was not the time to speak of that future to her, but he

bade her take courage, hinting that his purse should never
be closed until every possible means had been used for the
restoration of her sight. What wonder then, if she
dreamed that night that she could see again, and that the
good angel by whose agency this blessing had been restored
to her, was none other than James De Vere.