University of Virginia Library

25. CHAPTER XXV.
THE BRIDAL.

'Twas Mabel's wedding night, and in one of the upper
rooms of Mr. Livingstone's house she stood awaiting the
summons to the parlor. They had arrayed her for the
bridal; Mrs. Livingstone, Carrie, Lena, Anna, and the
seamstress, all had had something to do with her toilet,
and now they had left her for a time with him who was
so soon to be her husband. She knew—for they had told
her—she was looking uncommonly well. Her dress, of
pure white satin, was singularly becoming; pearls were
interwoven in the heavy braids of her raven hair; the
fleecy folds of the rich veil, which fell like a cloud around
her, swept the floor. In her eye there was an unusual
sparkle and on her cheek an unwonted bloom.

Still Mabel was not happy. There was a heavy pain
at her heart—a foreboding of coming evil—and many an
anxious glance she cast toward the stern, silent man,
who, with careless tread, walked up and down the room,
utterly regardless of her presence, and apparently absorbed
in bitter reflections. Once only had she ventured

to speak, and then, in child-like simplicity, she had asked
him “how she looked.”

“Well enough,” was his answer, as, without raising his
eyes, he continued his walk.

The tears gathered in Mabel's eyes—she could not help
it; drop after drop they came, falling upon the marble
table, until John Jr., who saw more than he pretended,
came to her side, asking “why she wept.”

Mabel was beginning to be terribly afraid of him, and
for a moment she hesitated, but at length, summoning all
her courage, she wound her arms about his neck, and in
low, earnest tones, said, “Tell me truly, do you wish to
marry me?”

“And suppose I do not?” he asked, with the same
stony composure.

Stepping backward, Mabel stood proudly erect before
him, and answered, “Then would I die rather than wed
you!”

There was something in her appearance and attitude
peculiarly attractive to John Jr. Never in his life had
he felt so much interested in her, and drawing her toward
him and placing his arm around her, he said, gently, “Be
calm, little Meb, you are nervous to-night. Of course I
wish you to be my wife, else I had not asked you. Are
you satisfied?”

The joyous glance of the dark eyes lifted so confidingly
to his, was a sufficient answer, and as if conscious of the
injustice he was about to do her, John Jr. bent for an instant
over her slight figure, mentally resolving, that so
far as in him lay he would be true to his trust. There
was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Livingstone herself
looked in, pale, anxious, and expectant. Mr. Douglass,
who was among the invited guests, had arrived, and must
have an interview with John Jr. ere the ceremony.

'Twas in vain she attempted politely to waive his request.
He would see him, and distracted with fear, she had at
last conducted him into the upper hall, and out upon an
open veranda, where in the moonlight he awaited the
coming of the bridegroom, who, with some curiosity, approached
him, asking what he wanted.

“It may seem strange to you,” said Mr. Douglass,
“that I insist upon seeing you now, when another time
might do as well, but I believe in having a fair understanding
all round.”

“Meddling old rascal!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone,
who, of course, was within hearing, bending her ears so
as not to lose a word.

But in this she was thwarted, for drawing nearer to
John Jr., Mr. Douglass said, so low as to prevent her
catching anything further, save the sound of his voice,

“I do not accuse you of being at all mercenary, but
such things have been, and there has something come to
my knowledge to-day, which I deem it my duty to tell
you, so that hereafter you can neither blame me nor
Mabel.”

“What is it?” asked John Jr., and Mr. Douglass replied,
“To be brief, then, Mabel's large fortune is, with
the exception of a few thousands, of which I have charge,
all swept away by the recent failure of the Planters' Bank,
in which it was invested. I heard of it this morning, and
determined on telling you, knowing that if you loved her
for herself, it would make no difference, while if you
loved her for her money, it were far better to stop here.”

Nothing could have been further from John's thoughts
than a desire for Mabel's wealth, which, precious as it
seemed in his mother's eyes, was valueless to him, and
after a moment's silence, in which he was thinking what a
rich disappointment it would be to his mother, who, he

knew, prized Mabel only for her money, he exclaimed,
“Good, I'm glad of it. I never sought Mabel's hand for
what there was in it, and I'm more ready to marry her
now than ever. But,” he added, as a sudden impulse of
good came over him, “She need not know it; it would
trouble her uselessly, and for the present we'll keep it
from her.”

John Jr. had always been a puzzle to Mr. Douglass,
who by turns censured and admired him, but now there
was but one feeling in his bosom toward him, and that
was one of unbounded respect. With a warm pressure
of the hand he turned away, thinking, perchance, of his
fair young daughter, who, far away o'er the Atlantic wave,
little dreamed of the scene on which that summer moon
was shining. As the conference ended, Mrs. Livingstone,
who had learned nothing, glided from her hiding-place,
eagerly scanning her son's face to see if there was aught
to justify her fears. But there was nothing, and with her
heart beating at its accustomed pace, she descended the
stairs in time to meet Durward, who, having reached
Woodlawn that day, had not heard of 'Lena's decision.

“This way, Marster Bellmont—up stars is the gentleman's
room,” said the servant in attendance, and ascending
the stairs, Durward met with Anna, asking her for
her cousin.

“In there—go in,” said Anna, pointing to a half-open
door, and then hurrying away to meet Malcolm, whose
coming she had seen from the window.

Hesitatingly, Durward approached the chamber indicated,
and as his knock met with no response, he ventured
at last to enter unannounced into the presence of
'Lena, whom he had not met since that well-remembered
night. Tastefully attired for the wedding in a simple
white muslin, she sat upon a little stool with her face

buried in the cushions of the sofa. She had heard his
voice in the lower hall, and knowing she must soon meet
him, she had for a moment abandoned herself to the tumult
of bitter thoughts, which came sweeping over her
in that trying hour. She was weeping—he knew that by
the trembling of her body—and for an instant everything
was forgotten.

Advancing softly toward her, he was about to lay his
hand upon those clustering curls which fell unheeded
around her, when the thought that from among them
had been cut the hated tress which his mother had cast
into the flames, arrested his hand, and he was himself
again. Forcing down his emotion, he said, calmly, “Miss
Rivers,” and starting quickly to her feet, 'Lena demanded
proudly what he would have, and why he was there.

“Pardon me,” said he, as he marked her haughty bearing
and glanced at her dress, which was hardly in accordance
with that of a bridesmaid; “I supposed I was to be
groomsman—am I mistaken?”

“So far as I am concerned you are, sir. I knew nothing
of Mabel's writing to you, or I should have prevented
it, for after what has occurred, you cannot deem me weak
enough to lend myself to such an arrangement.”

And 'Lena walked out of the room, while Durward
looked after her in amazement, one moment admiring her
spirit, and the next blaming Mabel for not informing him
how matters stood. “But there's no help for it now,”
thought he, as he descended the stairs and made his way
into the parlor, whither 'Lena had preceded him.

And thus ended an interview of which 'Lena had
thought so much, hoping and praying that it might result
in a reconciliation. But it was over now—the breach
was wider than ever—and with half-benumbed faculties
she leaned against the open window, unconscious of the

earnest desire he felt to approach her, for there was about
her a strange fascination which it required all his power
to resist.

When at last all was in readiness, a messenger was dispatched
to John Jr., who, without a word, offered his
arm to Mabel, and descending the broad staircase, they
stood within the parlor in the spot which had been assigned
them. Once during the ceremony he raised his
eyes, encountering those of 'Lena, fixed upon him so reproachfully
that with a scowl he turned away. Mechanically
he went through with his part of the service, betraying
no emotion whatever, until the solemn words which
made them one were uttered. Then, when it was over—
when he was bound to her forever—he seemed suddenly
to awake from his apathy and think of what he had done.
Crowding around him, they came with words of congratulation—all
but 'Lena, who tarried behind, for she had
none to give. Wretched as she was herself, she pitied
the frail young bride, whose half-joyous, half-timid glances
toward the frigid bridegroom, showed that already was
she sipping from the bitter cup whose very dregs she was
destined to drain.

In the recess of a window near to John Jr., Mr.
Douglass and Durward stood, speaking together of Nellie,
and though John shrank from the sound of her name,
his hearing faculties seemed unusually sharpened, and he
lost not a word of what they were saying.

“So Nellie is coming home in the autumn, I am told,”
said Durward, “and I am glad of it, for I miss her much.
But what is it about Mr. Wilbur's marriage. Wasn't it
rather unexpected?”

“No, not very. Nellie knew before she went that he
was engaged to Miss Allen, but at his sister's request she

kept it still. He found her at a boarding-school in Montreal,
several years ago.”

“Will they remain in Europe?”

“For a time, at least, until Mary is better—but Nellie
comes home with some friends from New Haven, whom
she met in Paris;” then in a low tone Mr. Douglass added,
“I almost dread the effect of this marriage upon her,
for I am positive she liked him better than any one else.”

The little white, blue-veined hand which rested on that
of John Jr., was suddenly pressed so spasmodically, that
Mabel looked up inquiringly in the face which had no
thought for her, for Mr. Douglass' words had fallen upon
him like a thunderbolt, crushing him to the earth, and for a
moment rendering him powerless. Instantly he comprehended
it all. He had deceived himself, and by his impetuous
haste lost all that he held most dear on earth.
There was a cry of faintness, a grasping at empty space
to keep from falling, and then forth into the open air they
led the half-fainting man, followed by his frightened bride,
who tenderly bathed his damp, cold brow, unmindful
how he shrank from her, shuddering as he felt the touch
of her soft hand, and motioning her aside when she
stooped to part from his forehead the heavy locks of his
hair.

That night, the pale starlight of another hemisphere
kept watch over a gentle girl, who 'neath the blue skies of
sunny France, dreamed of her distant home across the
ocean wave; of the gray-haired man, who, with every
morning light and evening shade, blessed her as his child;
of another, whose image was ever present with her, whom
from her childhood she had loved, and whom neither time
nor distance could efface from her memory.

Later, and the silvery moon looked mournfully down
upon the white, haggard face and heavy bloodshot eye of

him who counted each long, dreary hour as it passed by,
cursing the fate which had made him what he was, and
unjustly hardening his heart against his innocent, unsuspecting
wife.