University of Virginia Library

42. CHAPTER XLII.
AFTER CHRISTMAS EVE.

MERRILY rang the bells next day, but Helen's
heart was very sas as she met the smiling faces
of her friends, and Mark had never been prayed
for more earnestly than on that Christmas
morning, when Helen knelt at the altar rail, and received
the sacred symbols of a Saviour's dying love, asking that
God would keep the soldier husband, hastening on to
New York, and from thence to Washington. Much the
Silvertonians discussed the wedding, and had Helen been
the queen, she could hardly have been stared at more
curiously than she was that Christmas day, when late in
the afternoon she drove through the town with Katy, the
villagers looking admiringly after her, noting the tie
of her bonnet, the arrangement of her face trimmings,
and discovering in both a style and fitness they had
never discovered before. As the wife of Mark Ray, Helen
became suddenly a heroine, in whose presence poor
Katy subsided completely; nor was the interest at all
diminished when, two days later, Mrs. Banker came to
Silverton and was met at the depot by Helen, whom she
hugged affectionately, calling her “my dear daughter,”
and holding her hand all the way to the covered sleigh
waiting there for her.

Mrs. Banker was very fond of Helen; and not even the
sight of the farm-house, with its unpolished inmates,
awakened a feeling of regreat that her only son had not
looked higher for a wife. She was satisfied with her
new daughter, and insisted upon taking her back to New
York.

“I am very lonely now, lonelier than you can possibly
be,” she said to Mrs. Lennox, “and you will not refuse

her to me for a few weeks at least. It will do us both
good, and make the time of Mark's absence so much
shorter.”

“Yes, mother, let Helen go. I will try to fill her
place,” Katy said, though while she said it her heart
throbbed with pain and dread as she thought how desolate
she should be without her sister.

But it was right, and Katy urged Helen's going, bearing
up bravely so long as Helen was in sight, but shedding
bitter tears when at last she was gone, tears which
were only stayed when kind old Uncle Ephraim offered to
take her to the little grave, where, from experience, he
knew she always found rest and peace. The winter
snows were on it now, but Katy knew just where the
daisies were, and the blue violets which with the spring
would bloom again, feeling comforted as she thought of
that eternal spring in the bright world above, where her
child had gone. And so that night, when they gathered
again around the fire in the pleasant little parlor, the
mother and the old people did not miss Helen half so
much as they had feared they might, for Katy sang her
sweetest songs and wore her sunniest smile, while she
told them of Helen's new home, and talked of whatever
else she thought would interest and please them.

“Little Sunbeam,” Uncle Ephraim called her now, instead
of “Katty-did,” and in his prayer that first night of
Helen's absence he asked, in his touching way, “that
God would bless his little Sunbeam, and not let her
grow tired of living there alone with folks so odd and
old.”

Such was the announcement which appeared in several
of the New York papers two days after Christmas,
and such the announcement which Bell Cameron read at
the breakfast table on the morning of the day when Mrs.
Banker started for Silverton.

“Here is something which will perhaps interest you,”
she said, passing the paper to Juno, who had come down

late, and was looking cross and jaded from the effects of
last night's dissipation.

Taking the paper from her sister's hand, Juno glanced
at the paragraph indicated by Bell; then, as she caught
Mark's name, she glanced again with a startled, incredulous
look, her cheeks and lips turning white as she read
that Mark Ray was lost to her forever, and that in
spite of the stolen letter Helen Lennox was his wife.

“What is it, Juno?” Mrs. Cameron asked, noticing her
daughter's agitation.

Juno told her what it was, and then handing her the
paper let her read it for herself.

“Impossible! there is some mistake! How was it
brought about?” Mrs. Cameron said, darting a curious
glance at Bell, whose face betrayed nothing as she leisurely
sipped her coffee and remarked, “I always thought it
would come to this, for I knew he liked her. It is a
splendid match.”

Whatever Juno thought she kept it to herself, just as
she kept her room the entire day, complaining of a racking
headache, and ordering the curtains to be dropped, as
the light hurt her eyes, she said to Bell, who, really pitying
her now, never suggested that the darkened room
was more to hide her tears than to save her eyes, and
who sent away all callers with the message that Juno
was sick—all but Sybil Grandon, who insisted so hard
upon seeing her dear friend that she was admitted to
Juno's room, talking at once of the wedding, and making
every one of Juno's nerves quiver with pain as she descanted
upon the splendid match it was for Helen, or indeed
for any girl.

“I had given you to him,” she said, “but I see I was
mistaken. It was Helen he preferred, unless you jilted
him, as perhaps you did.”

Here was a temptation Juno could not resist, and she
replied, haughtily,

“I am not one to boast of conquests, but ask Captain
Ray himself if you wish to know why I did not marry
him.”

Sybil Grandon was not deceived, but she good-naturedly
suffered that young lady to hope she was, and answered,
laughingly, “I can't say I honor your judgment in

refusing him, but you know best. However, I trust that
will not prevent your friendly advances towards his
bride. Mrs. Banker has gone after her, I understand,
and I want you to call with me as soon as convenient.
Mrs. Mark Ray will be the belle of the season, depend
upon it,” and gathering up her furs Mrs. Grandon kissed
Juno affectionately and then swept from the room.

That Mrs. Cameron had hunted for and failed to find
the stolen letter, and that she associated its disappearance
with Mark Ray's sudden marriage, Bell was very sure,
from the dark, anxious look upon her face when she came
from her room, whither she had repaired immediately
after breakfast; but whatever her suspicions were, they
did not find form in words. Mark was lost. It was too
late to help that now, and as a politic woman of the
world, Mrs. Cameron decided to let the matter rest, and
by patronizing the young bride prove that she had never
thought of Mark Ray for her son-in-law. Hence it was
that the Cameron carriage and the Grandon carriage
stood together before Mrs. Banker's door, while the ladies
who had come in the carriages paid their respects to
Mrs. Ray, rallying her upon the march she had stolen
upon them, telling her how delighted they were to have
her back again, and hoping they should see each other
a great deal during the coming winter.

The Camerons and Sybil Grandon were not alone in
calling upon the bride. Those who had liked Helen
Lennox did not find her less desirable now that she was
Helen Ray, and numberless were the attentions bestowed
upon her and the invitations she received.

But with few exceptions Helen declined the latter, feeling
that with her husband in so much danger, it was better
not to mingle in gay society. She was very happy
with Mrs. Banker, who petted and caressed and loved
her almost as much as if she had been her own daughter.
Mark's letters, too, which came nearly every day, were
bright sun-spots in her existence, so full were they of
tender love and kind thoughtfulness for her. He was
very happy, he wrote, in knowing that at home there was
a dear little brown-haired wife, waiting and praying for
him, and but for the separation from her he was well content
with a soldier's life. Once Helen thought seriously

of going to him for a week or more, but the project
was prevented by the sudden arrival in New York of
Katy, who came one night to Mrs. Banker's, with her face
as white as ashes, and a wild expression in her eyes as she
said to Helen,

“I am going to Wilford. He is dying. He has sent
for me. I ought to go on to-night, but cannot, my head
aches so,” and pressing both her hands upon her head
Katy sank fainting into Helen's arms.