University of Virginia Library

37. CHAPTER XXXVII.
A MARRIAGE.

Doctor Ravenel was delighted when Lillie, blushing
monstrously and with one arm around his neck, and her
face at first a little behind his shoulder, confided to him
the new revelation which had made her life doubly prescious.

“I never was more happy since I came into the world,
my dear,” he said. “I am entirely satisfied. I do most
heartily return thanks for this. I believe that now your
happiness and well-being are assured, so far as they can
be by any human circumstance. He is the noblest young
man that I ever knew.”

“Shall I send him to you to implore your consent?”
she asked roguishly. “Do you want a chance to domineer
over him?”

The Doctor laughed outright at the absurdity of the
idea.

“I feel,” said he, “as though I ought to ask his consent.
I ought to apologize to the municipal authorities for taking
the finest fellow in the city away from the young ladies
of native birth. Seriously, my dear child, you will have
to try hard in order to be good enough for him.”

“Go away,” answered Lillie with a little push. “Papas
are the most ungrateful of all human beings. Well, if I
am not good enough, there is Ravvie, and you. I throw
you both in to make it an even bargain.”

It was soon decided that the marriage should take place
early in September. Lillie had never had a long engagement,
and did not now specially care for one, being
therein, I understand, similar to most widows when they
are once persuaded to exchange their mourning for bridal
attire. Men never like that period of expectation, and

Colburne urged an early day for his inauguration as
monarch of a heart and household. His family homestead,
just now tenantless, was made fine by the application of
much paint and wall-paper, and the introduction of half-a-dozen
new articles of furniture. Lillie and he visited it
nearly every day during their brief betrothal, usually
accompanied by Ravvie in the wicker baby-wagon, and
were very happy in dressing up the neglected garden, arranging
and re-arranging the chairs, and tables, and planning
how the rooms should be distributed among the
family. To the Doctor was assigned the best front bed-room,
and to the Smithites and Brownites, etc., an adjoining
closet of abundant dimensions.

“Ravvie and Rosann shall have the back chamber,”
said Lillie, “so that Ravvie can look out on the garden
and be away from the dust of the street. I am so delighted
that the little fellow is at last to have a garden
and flowers. You and I will take the other front bed-room,
next to papa's.”

Here she colored at her own frankness, and hurried on
to other dispositions.

“That will leave us two little rooms for servants up
stairs; and down stairs we shall have a parlor, and dining-room,
and kitchen; we shall fairly lose ourselves. How
much pleasanter than a hotel!”

Colburne had noticed her blush with a sense of pleasure
and triumph; but he was generous enough and delicate
enough to spare her any allusion to it.

“You have left no place for friends,” he merely observed.

“Oh, but we mustn't entertain much, for a while. We
—you—cannot afford it. I have been catechising Mrs.
Whitewood about the cost of meat and things. Prices
are dreadful.”

After a little pause she broke out, “Oh, won't it be delightful
to have a house, and garden, and flowers! Ravvie
will be so happy here! We shall all be so happy! I
can't think of anything else.”

“And you don't want a wedding tour?”

“Oh yes! I do want it. But, my darling, you cannot
afford it. You must not tempt me. We will have the
wedding tour five years hence, when we come to celebrate
our wooden wedding. Then you will be rich, perhaps.”

The grand ceremony which legalized and ratified all
these arrangements took place at five o'clock in the afternoon
in the little church of St. Joseph. The city being
yet small enough to feel a decided interest in the private
affairs of any noted citizen, a crowd of uninvited spectators
collected to witness the marriage of the popular young
captain with the widow of the lamented Union General.
Stories of how the father had given up his all for the sake
of the Republic, how Colburne had single-handed saved
Mrs. Carter from a brigade of Texans, and how the dying
General had bequeathed the care of his family to the Captain
on the field of victory, circulated among the lookers
on and inflamed them to an enthusiasm which exhibited itself
in a violent waving of handkerchief as the little bridal
party came out of the church and drove homeward. Since
New Boston was founded no other nuptials had been so
celebrated, if we may believe the oldest inhabitant.

At last Colburne had his wife, and his wife had her
home. For the last four years they have sailed separately
over stormy seas, but now they are in a quiet haven,
united so long as life shall last.

It grieves me to leave this young woman thus on the
threshold of her history. Here she is, at twenty-three,
with but one child, and only at her second husband. Two-thirds
of her years and heart history are probably before
her. Women are most interesting at thirty: then only do
they in general enter upon their full bloom, physical,
moral and intellectual: then only do they attain their
highest charm as members of society. But a sense of
artistic fitness, derived from a belief that now she has a
sure start in the voyage of happiness, compels me to close
the biography of my heroine at her marriage with my

favorite, Mr. Colburne. Moreover, it will be perceived
that, if I continue her story, I shall have to do it through
the medium of prophecy, which might give it an air of improbability
to the reader, besides leading me to assume
certain grave responsibilities, such, for instance, as deciding
the next presidential election without waiting for the
verdict of the people.

We need have no fears about the prospects of Colburne.
It is true that during his military career luck has been
against him, and he has not received promotion although
he deserved it; but his disappointment in not obtaining
great military glory will finally give strength to his
character and secure to him perfect manliness and success.
It has taken down his false pride, and taught him to use
means for ends; moreover, it will preserve him from being
enfeebled by a dropsy of vanity. Had he been mustered
out of service as a Brigadier-General of volunteers, he
might possibly have disdained the small beginnings of a
law business, demanded a foreign consulate or home collectorship,
and became a State pauper for life. As it is,
he will stand on his own base, which is a broad and solid
one; and the men around him will have no advantage
over him, except so far as their individual bases are better
than his; for in civilian life there is no rank, nor seniority,
and the close corporation of political cabal has little influence.
The chivalrous sentiment which would not let
him beg for promotion will show forth in a resolute self-reliance
and an incorruptible honor, which in the long run
will be to his outward advantage. His responsibilities
will take all dreaminess out of him, and make him practical,
industrious, able to arrive at results. His courage
will prolong his health, and his health will be used in
effective labor. He has the patience of a soldier, and a
soldier's fortitude under discouragement. He is a better
and stronger man for having fought three years, out-facing
death and suffering. Like the nation, he has developed,
and learned his powers. Possessing more physical and

intellectual vigor than is merely necessary to exist, he will
succeed in the duties of life, and control other men's lives,
labors, opinions, successes. It is greatly to his honor, it
is a sure promise of his future, that he understands his
seeming failure as a soldier, and is not discouraged by it,
but takes hold of the next thing to do with confident
energy.

He is the soldier citizen: he could face the flame of battle
for his country: he can also earn his own living. He
could leave his office-chair to march and fight for three
years; and he can return to peaceful industry, as ennobling
as his fighting.

It is in millions of such men that the strength of the Republic
consists.

As for his domestic history, I think that we need have
no terrors either for his happiness or that of Mrs. Colburne.

“I don't see but that you get along very well together,”
said the Doctor, addressing the young couple, a week, or
so after the marriage. “I really don't see why I can't
hereafter devote myself exclusively to my Brownites and
Robinsonites.”

“Papa,” answered Lillie, “I never felt so near saying
that I could spare you.”

Colburne listened, happily smiling, conscious of a loved
and loving wife, of a growing balance in bank, of surroundings
which he would not have exchanged for a field
of victory.