University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.
BEFORE THE MARRIAGE.

ON the morning of the 9th day of June, 18—,
Wilford Cameron stood in his father's parlor, surrounded
by the entire family, who, after their unusually
early breakfast, had assembled to bid him

good-bye, for Wilford was going for his bride, and it
would be months, if not a year, ere he returned to them
again. They had given him up to his idol, asking only
that none of the idol's family should be permitted to
cross their threshold, and also that the idol should not
often be allowed the privilege of returning to the place
from whence she came. These restrictions had emanated
from the female portion of the Cameron family, the
mother, Juno and Bell. The father, on the contrary,
had sworn roundly as he would sometimes swear at what
he called the contemptible pride of his wife and daughters.
Katy was sure of a place in his heart just because
of the pride which was building up so high a wall between
her and her friends, and when at parting he held
his son's hand in his, he said,

“I charge you Will, be kind to that young girl, and
don't for Heaven's sake go to cramming her with airs
and nonsense which she does not understand. Tell her
I'll be a father to her; her own, you say, is dead, and
give her this as my bridal present.”

He held out a small box containing a most exquisite
set of pearls, such as he fancied would be becoming to
the soft, girlish beauty Wilford had described. Something
in his father's manner touched Wilford closely,
making him resolve anew that if Kitty were not happy
as Mrs. Cameron it should not be his fault. His mother
had said all she wished to say, while his sisters had been
gracious enough to send their love to the bride, Bell hoping
she would look as well in the poplin and little plaid
as she had done. Either was suitable for the wedding
day, Mrs. Cameron said, and she might take her choice,
only Wilford must see that she did not wear with the
poplin the gloves and belt intended for the silk; country
people had so little taste, and she did want Katy to look
well, even if she were not there to see her. And with his
brain a confused medley of poplins and plaids, belts and
gloves, pearls and Katy, Wilford finally tore himself
away, and at three o'clock that afternoon drove through
Silverton village, past the little church, which the Silverton
maidens were decorating with flowers, pausing a
moment in their work to look at him as he went by.
Among them was Marian Hazelton, but she only bent

lower over her work, thus hiding the tear which
dropped upon the delicate buds she was fashioning into
the words, “Joy to the Bride,” intending the whole as
the center of the wreath to be placed over the altar
where all could see it.

“The handsomest man I ever saw,” was the verdict of
most of the girls as they came back to their work, while
Wilford drove on to the farm-house where Katy had been
so anxiously watching for him.

When he came in sight, however, and she knew he
was actually there, she ran away to hide her blushes, and
the feeling of awe which had come suddenly over her for
the man who was to be her husband. But Helen bade
her go back, and so she went coyly in to Wilford, who
met her with loving caresses, and then put upon her finger
the superb diamond which he said he had thought to
send as a pledge of their engagement, but had finally
concluded to wait and present himself. Katy had heard
much of diamonds, and seen some in Canandaigua; but
the idea that she, plain Katy Lennox, would ever wear
them, had never entered her mind; and now, as she
looked at the brilliant gem sparkling upon her hand, she
felt a thrill of something more than joy at that good fortune
which had brought her to diamonds. Vanity, we
suppose it was—such vanity as was very natural in her
case, and she thought she should never tire of looking at
the precious stone; but when Wilford showed her next
the plain broad band of gold, and tried it on her third
finger, asking if she knew what it meant, the true woman
spoke within her, and she answered tearfully,

“Yes, I know, and I will try to prove worthy of what
I shall be to you when I wear that ring for good.”

Katy was very quiet for a moment as she sat with her
head nestled against Wilford's bosom, but when he observed
that she was looking tired, and asked if she had
been working hard, the quiet fit was broken, and she
told him of the dress “we had made,” the we referring
solely to Helen and Marian, for Katy had hardly done a
thing. But it did not matter; she fancied she had, and
she asked if he did not wish to see her dresses. Wilford
knew it would please Katy, and so he followed her into
the adjoining room, where they were spread out upon

tables and chairs, with Helen in their midst, ready to
pack them away. Wilford thought of Mrs. Ryan and the
check, but he shook hands with Helen very civilly, saying
to her playfully,

“I suppose you are willing I should take your sister
with me this time.”

Helen could not answer, but turned away to hide her
face, while Katy showed one dress after another, until
she came to the silk, which, with a bright blush, she told
him “was the very thing itself—the one intended for to-morrow,”
and asked if he did not like it.

Wilford could not help telling her yes, for he knew
she wished him to do so, but in his heart he was thinking
bad thoughts against the wardrobe of his bride elect
—thoughts which would have won for him the title of
hen-huzzy from Helen, could she have known them. And
yet Wilford did not deserve that name. He had been
accustomed all his life to hearing dress discussed in his
mother's parlor, and in his sisters' boudoir, while for the
last five weeks he had heard at home of little else than
the probable tout ensemble of Katy's wardrobe, bought and
made in the country, his mother deciding finally to write
to her cousin, Mrs. Harvey, who boarded at the Revere,
and have her see to it before Katy left the city. Under
these circumstances, it was not strange that Wilford did
not enter into Katy's delight, even after she told him how
Helen had made every stitch of the dress herself, and
that it would on that account be very dear to her. This
was a favorable time for getting the poplin off his mind,
and with a premonitory ahem he said, “Yes, it is very nice,
no doubt; but,” and here he turned to Helen, “after Mrs.
Ryan's services were declined, my mother determined to
have two dresses fitted to sister Bell, who I think is just
Katy's size and figure. I need not say,” and his eyes
still rested on Helen, who gave him back an unflinching
glance, “I need not say that no pains have been spared
to make these garments everything they should be in
point of quality and style. I have them in my trunk,
and,” turning now to Katy, “it is my mother's special
request that one of them be worn to-morrow. You
could take your choice, she said—either was suitable. I
will bring them for your inspection.”

He left the room, while Helen's face resembled a dark
thunder-cloud, whose lightnings shone in her flashing
eyes as she looked after him and then back to where
Katy stood, bewildered and wondering what was wrong.

“Who is Mrs Ryan?” she asked. “What does he
mean?” but before Helen could command her voice to
explain, Wilford was with them again, bringing the
dresses, over which Katy nearly went wild.

She had never seen anything as elegant as the rich
heavy poplin or the soft lustrous silk, while even Helen
acknowledged that there was about them a finish which
threw Miss Hazelton's quite in the shade.

“Beautiful!” Katy exclaimed; “and trimmed so exquisitely!
I do so hope they will fit!”

“I dare say they will,” Wilford replied, enjoying her
appreciation of his mother's gift. “At all events they
will answer for to-morrow, and any needful alterations
can be made in Boston. Which will you wear?”

“Oh, I don't know. I wish I could wear both.
Helen, which shall I?” and Katy appealed to her sister,
who could endure no more, but hid her head among the
pillows of the bed and cried.

Katy understood the whole, and dropping the silk to
which she inclined the most, she flew to Helen's side and
whispered to her, “Don't, Nellie, I won't wear either of
them. I'll wear the one you made. It was mean and
vain in me to think of doing otherwise.”

During this scene Wilford had stolen from the room,
and with him gone Helen was capable of judging candidly
and sensibly. She knew the city silk was handsomer
and better suited for Wilford Cameron's bride
than the country plaid, and so she said to Katy,
“I would rather you should wear the one they
sent. It will become you better. Suppose you try it
on,” and in seeking to gratify her sister, Helen forgot
in part her own cruel disappointment, and that her work
of days had been for naught. The dress fitted well,
though Katy pronounced it too tight and too long. A
few moments, however, accustomed her to the length,
and then her mother, Aunt Hannah, and Aunt Betsy,
came to see and admire, while Katy proposed going out
to Wilford, but Helen kept her back, Aunt Betsy remarking

under her breath, that “she didn't see for the life
on her how Catherine could be so free and easy with
that man when just the sight of him was enough to take
away a body's breath.”

“More free and easy than she will be by and by,” was
Helen's mental comment as she proceeded quietly to
pack the trunk which Morris had brought for the voyage
across the sea, dropping into it many a tear as she
folded away one article after another, and wondered
under what circumstances she should see them again if
she saw them ever.

Helen was a Christian girl, and many a time had she
prayed in secret that He who rules the deep would keep
its waters calm and still while her sister was upon them,
and she prayed so now, constantly, burying her face
once in her hands, and asking that Katy might come
back to them unchanged, if possible, and asking next
that God would remove from her heart all bitterness
towards the bridegroom, who was to be her brother, and
whom, after that short, earnest prayer, she found herself
liking better. He loved Katy, she was sure, and that
was all she cared for, though she did wish he would release
her before twelve o'clock on that night, the last
she would spend with them for a long, long time. But
Wilford kept her with him in the parlor, kissing away
the tears which flowed so fast when she recalled the
prayer said by Uncle Ephraim, with her kneeling by him
as she might never kneel again. He had called her by
her name, and his voice was very sad as he commended
her to God, asking that he would “be with our little
Katy wherever she might go, keeping her in all the
mewandering scenes of life, and bringing her at last to
his own heavenly home,”

Wilford himself was touched, and though he noticed
the deacon's pronunciation, he did not even smile, and
his manner was very respectful, when, after the prayer was
over and they were alone a moment, the white-haired
deacon felt it incumbent upon him to say a few words
concerning Katy.

“She's a young, rattle-headed creature, not much like
your own kin, I guess; but, young man, she is as dear
as the apple of our eyes, and I charge you to treat her

well. She has never had a crossways word spoke to her
all her life, and don't you be the first to speak it, nor let
your folks browbeat her.”

As they were alone, it was easier for Wilford to be
humble and conciliatory, and he promised all the old man
required, and then went back to Katy, who was going into
raptures over the beautiful little watch which Morris had
sent over as her bridal gift from him. Even Mrs. Cameron
herself could have found no fault with this, and
Wilford praised it as much as Katy could desire, noticing
the inscription, “Katy, from Cousin Morris, June
10th, 18—,” wishing that after the “Katy” had come
the name Cameron, and wondering if Morris had any
design in omitting it. Wilford had not yet presented
his father's gift, but he did so now, and Katy's tears
dropped upon the pale, soft pearls as she whispered, “I
shall like your father. I never thought of having things
like these.”

Nor had she; but she would grow to them very soon,
while even the family gathering round and sharing in
her joy began to realize how great a lady their Katy was
to be. It was late that night ere anybody slept, if sleep
at all they did, which was doubtful, unless it were the
bride, who, with Wilford's kisses warm upon her lips,
crept up to bed just as the clock was striking twelve, nor
woke until it was again chiming for six, and over her
Helen bent, a dark ring about her eyes and her face very
white as she whispered, “Wake, Katy darling, this is
your wedding day.”