University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
THE BRIDAL.

THERE was a great deal of sincere and tender interest
in Richard's manner when, in reply to his
inquiries for Ethelyn's headache, Aunt Barbara
told him of the almost fainting fit in the morning and her
belief that Ethelyn was not as strong this summer as she
used to be.

“The mountain air will do her good, I trust,” he said,
casting wistful glances up the stairs and toward the door
of the chamber, where girlish voices were heard, Nettie
Hudson and Susie Granger chatting gayly and uttering exclamations
of delight as they arranged and adjusted Ethelyn's
bridal robes.

Once during the period of his judgeship Richard had attended
a large and fashionable bridal party; but when, on
his return to Olney, Melinda Jones questioned him with
regard to the dresses of the bride and the guests, he found
himself utterly unable to remember either fabric, fashion,
or even color, so little attention had he given to the subject.
He never noticed such things, he said, but he believed some

of the dresses were made of something flimsy, for he could
see through them, and he knew they were very long, for
he had stepped on some half dozen. And this was all the
information the inquisitive Melinda could obtain. Dress
was of little consequence, he thought, so it was clean and
whole.

This was his theory; but when, as the twilight deepened
on the Chicopee hills, and the lamps were lighted in Aunt
Barbara's parlors, and old Col. Markham began to wonder
“why the plague the folks did not come,” as he stalked up
and down the piazza in all the pride and pomposity of one
who felt himself to all intents and purposes the village aristocrat,—and
when the mysterious door of Ethie's room,
which had been closed so long, was opened, and the bridegroom
told that he might go in, he started in surprise at
the beautiful tableau presented to his view as he stepped
across the threshold. As was natural, he fancied that
never before had he seen three young girls so perfectly
beautiful as the three before him,—Ethie, and Susie, and
Nettie.

As a matter of course, he gave the preference to Ethelyn,
who was very, very lovely in her bridal robes, with the
orange wreath resting like a coronet upon her marble brow.
There were pearls upon her neck and pearls upon her arms,
the gift of Mrs. Dr. Van Buren, who had waited till the
very last, hoping the Judge would have forethought enough
to buy them himself. But the Judge had not. He knew
something of diamonds, for they had been Daisy's favorites;
but pearls were novelties to him, and Ethelyn's pale cheeks
would have burned crimson had she known that he was
thinking “how becoming those white beads were to her.”

Poor, ignorant Richard! He would know more by and by

of what constitutes a fashionable lady's toilet; but now he
was in blissful ignorance of minutiæ, and saw only the tout
ensemble, which he pronounced perfect. He was half afraid
of her, though, she seemed so cold, so passive, so silent;
and when in the same breath Susie Granger asked if he
ever saw any one so lovely as Ethelyn, and bade him kiss
her quick, he hesitated, and finally kissed Susie instead.
He might, perhaps, have done the same with Ethelyn if she
had not stepped backward to avoid it, her long train sweeping
across the hearth where that morning she had knelt in
such utter desolation, and where now was lying a bit of
blackened paper, which the housemaid's broom had not
found when, early in the day, the room was swept and
dusted. So Ethelyn's white satin brushed against the gossamer
thing, which floated upward for a moment, and then
settled back upon the heavy, shining folds. It was Richard
who saw it first, and Richard's hand which brushed away
the skeleton of Frank's letter from the skirts of his bride,
leaving a soiled, yellowish stain, which Susie Granger
loudly deplored, while Ethelyn only drew her drapery
around her, saying coldly, that “it did not matter in the
least. She would as soon have it there as not.”

It was meet, she thought, that the purity of her bridal
garments should be tarnished; for was not her heart all
stained, and black, and crisp with cruel deception? That
little incident, however, affected her strangely, bringing
back so vividly the scene on the ledge of rocks beneath the
New England laurels, where Frank had sat beside her and
poured words of boyish passion into her ear. There was
for a moment a pitiful look of anguish in her eyes as they
went out into the summer night toward the huckleberry
hills, where lay that ledge of massy rock, and then came

back to the realities about her. Frank saw the look of
pain, and it awoke in his own breast an answering throb as
he wondered if, after all, Ethie would not have preferred
that he were standing by her instead of the grave Judge,
fitting on his gloves with an awkwardness which said that
such articles were comparatively strangers to his large red
hands.

It was time now to go down. The guests had all arrived,
the clergyman was waiting, and Col. Markham had
grown very red in the face with his impatience, which his
wife tried in vain to quiet. If at this last moment there
arose in Ethelyn's bosom any wild impulse to break away
from the dreadful scene, and rush out into the darkness
which lay so softly upon the hills, she put it aside, with
the thought, “too late now,—forever too late;” and taking
the arm which Richard offered her, she went mechanically
down the staircase into the large parlor where the wedding
guests were assembled. Surely, she did not know
what she was doing, or realize the solemn words, “I charge
and require you both, as ye shall answer at the great day,
when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if
either of you know any impediment why ye may not be
lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess
it, for be ye well assured,” and so forth. She did not even
hear them; for the numb, dead feeling which crept over
her, chilling her blood, and making the hand which Richard
took in his while he fitted the wedding-ring, so cold and
clammy to the touch, that Richard felt tempted to hold
and chafe it in his own warm broad palms; but that was
not in accordance with the ceremony, and so he let it fall,
wondering that Ethelyn could be so cold when the sweat
was standing in great drops upon his own face and moistening

his wavy hair, which clustered in thick curls around his
brow, making him look so handsome, as more than one
maiden thought, envying Ethelyn her good fortune, and
marvelling at the pallor of her lips and the rigidity of her
form.

The ceremony was ended, and Ethelyn Grant was Mrs.
Richard Markham; but the new name brought no blushes to
her cheek, nor yet the kiss her husband gave her, nor the
congratulations of the guests, nor Aunt Barbara's tear, which
dropped upon the forehead of her darling as the good
woman bent over her and thought how she had lost her;
but when Frank Van Buren stooped down to touch her
lips the sluggish blood quickened and a thrill went through
and through her veins, sending the bright color to her
cheeks, which burned as with a hectic flush. Frank saw the
power he held, but to his credit he did not then exult: he only
felt that it was finished, that Ethie was gone past his recall;
and for the first time in his life he experienced a genuine
pang of desolation, such as he had never felt before, and he
fought hard to master his emotions while he watched the
bride receiving the bridal guests. Another than Frank
was watching her too,—Mrs. Dr. Van Buren,—who at one
time feared lest Ethelyn should faint, and who, as soon as
an opportunity offered, whispered to her niece, “Do, Ethie,
put some animation in your manner, or people will think
you an unwilling bride.”

For a moment a gleam of anger flashed from the eyes
which looked unflinchingly into Mrs. Van Buren's, and the
pale lips quivered with passion. But Ethelyn had too
much pride to admit of her letting the people know what
she was suffering, and so with a great effort she rallied, and
twice ere the evening was at a close her merry laugh was

heard even above Susie Granger's, as a knot of her gay
companions gathered round her with their merry jokes and
gay repartees.

Susie Granger was in her happiest mood, and her lively
spirits seemed to pervade the whole party. Now that he
knew her better, Richard was more at ease with her, and
returned her playful sallies until even Ethelyn wondered to
see him so funny. He never forgot her, however, as was
evinced by the loving glances he bent upon her, and
by his hovering constantly at her side, as if afraid to lose
her.

Once, when they were standing together and Frank was
near to them, Richard laid his hand upon Ethelyn's shoulder,
which the cut of the wedding-dress left bare. It was a
very beautiful neck, white, and plump, and soft, and
Richard's hand pressed somewhat heavily; but with a
shiver Ethelyn drew herself away, and Frank, who was
watching her, fancied that her face grew paler and her lips
more compressed. Perhaps it was a feeling of pity, and
perhaps it was a mean desire to test his own influence over
her, which prompted him carelessly to take her hand to
inspect the wedding-ring. It was only her hand, but as
Frank held it in his own, he felt it growing warm and
flushed, while the color deepened on Ethelyn's cheeks, and
then died suddenly away at Frank's characteristic remark,
spoken for her ear alone, “You feel like thunder, Ethie,
and so do I.”

The speech did Ethie good. No matter how she felt,
it was not Frank's place to speak to her thus. She was
now a wife, and she meant to be true to her marriage vow,
both in look and deed; so, with an impatient gesture, she
flung aside Frank's hand, repelling him fiercely with the

reply, “You are mistaken, sir,—at least so far as I am concerned.”

After that she stayed more with Richard, and once, of
her own accord, put her arm in his, and stood half leaning
against him with both hands clasped together, while he
held the bouquet which Mrs. Senator Woodhull had sent
by express to New York. It is true that Richard smelled
and breathed upon the flowers oftener than was desirable;
and once Ethelyn saw him extracting leaves from the
choicest blossoms; but on the whole he did very well, considering
that it was the first time he had ever held a lady's
bouquet in such an expensive holder.

As Ethelyn had predicted, the evening was hot and
sultry; but the bugs, and beetles, and millers she had
dreaded did not come in to annoy her; and when, as the
clock struck twelve, the company dispersed, they were
sincere in their assertions of having passed a delightful
evening; and many were the good wishes expressed for
Mrs. Judge Markham's happiness, as the guests took their
way to their respective homes.

An hour later and the lights had disappeared from Miss
Barbara Bigelow's windows, and the summer stars looked
calmly down upon the quiet house where that strange bridal
had been.