The bridal day came; frosty and clear, dazzlingly bright, by reason of
the reflection from the snow, which lay deep and firm upon the ground.
"What a delightful novelty this is, coming to a wedding in a sleigh!"
lisped one of the triad of bridesmaids, who were to do double duty for
the sisters. "How very gay it makes one to hear the bells outside! Have
they come, Vic.?"
Victoria, whose marriage was but one week off, was, true to instinct
and habit, on the lookout behind the friendly curtain.
She nodded. "Yes--both of them, but not together. What a magnificent
sleigh that is of the Marlows! They brought Mr. Hammond. See the
bridegrooms shake hands on the sidewalk! That looks so sweet and
brotherly! They will be up here almost directly, I suppose."
The attendants immediately began to shake out their robes and stroke
their white gloves. They were collected in the sitting-room so often
mentioned, and the sisters were also present. In accordance with the
ridiculous custom of very parvenu modern marriages, although the
ceremony was to take place precisely at twelve o'clock, daylight
was carefully excluded from the parlors below, gas made its sickly
substitute, and the whole company was in full evening costume.
"Am I all right?" inquired Lucy, with a cautious wave of her flowing
veil. "Look at me, Vic.!"
"You are perfect, my dearest!" replied the devoted parasite. "How
I admire your beautiful self-possession! And as for you, Sarah,
your calmness is wonderful! I fear that I should be terribly
agitated"--blushing, and casting a meaning smile at Lucy.
Sarah's statuesque repose was broken by a ray of scorn from the
eye, and a slight disdainful smile. Whatever were the feelings
working beneath her marble mask, she was not reduced to the depth of
wretchedness that would humble her to accept the insolent pity couched
under the pretended praise. She vouchsafed no other reply; but remained
standing a little apart from the rest; her gloved hands crossed
carelessly before her; her gaze bent downwards; her whole posture that
of one who neither waited, nor hoped, nor feared.
"Who would have thought that she could be made such an elegant-looking
woman?" whispered one of the bridesmaids aside to another.
"She has actually a high-bred air! I never imagined it was in her. So
much for a Parisian toilette!"
"I am so much afraid that I shall lose my color when we enter the
room," said Lucy, surveying her pink cheeks in the mirror. "They say it
is so trying to the nerves, and I am odious when I am pale."
"Never fear, my sweetest. It is more likely that the unavoidable
excitement will improve your complexion. There they are!" returned
Victoria, hurriedly, and--unconsciously, no doubt--the three attendants
and one of the principals in the forthcoming transaction, "struck an
attitude," as the sound of footsteps approached the door.
Lucy had only time for a whisper--a last injunction--to her faithful
crony. "Remember to see that my veil and dress hang right when we get
downstairs." And the masculine portion of the procession marched in in
order.
Sarah did not look up. She bent her head as the formal exchange of
salutations was executed, and yielded her hand to the person who took
it in his warm pressure, and then transferred it to his arm. It was one
of the freaks, thus denominated by her acquaintances, in which she had
been indulged, that she desired to have her marriage ceremony precede
her sister's. She assigned what Lucy at least considered a sufficient
reason for this caprice.
"Nobody will care to look at me after you stand aside, Lucy. Keep the
best wine until the last. My only chance of getting an approving glance
lies in going in before you attract and fix the public gaze."
She had her way. A limited number of select friends were admitted
to behold "the ceremony;" yet the parlors were comfortably filled,
excepting in the magical semicircle described by an invisible line, in
the center of which stood the clergyman in his robes.
Still dull and calm, Sarah went through the brief role that fell to
her share. "Behaved charmingly," was the unanimous verdict of the
beholders, and surprised other people, as well as the complimentary
bridesmaid, by her thoroughbred air and Parisian toilette. Without the
pause of a second, so perfect was the drill of the performers, the
wedded pair stepped aside, and made way for the second happy couple.
Lucy's solicitude on the score of her complexion was needless. As the
solemn words were commenced, a rosy blush flickered up to its appointed
resting-place--another and another--until, when Philip released her
to the congratulatory throng, she was the most enchanting type of a
radiant Hebe that poet ever sang, or painter burned to immortalize on
canvas.
Philip stood beside her and sustained his portion of the hand-shaking
and felicitations until the press diminished, then stepped hastily over
to where Hammond and his bride were undergoing a similar martyrdom.
Until this moment Sarah had not looked at, or spoken to him--had never
met him face to face since their parting in the summer at Aunt Sarah's.
Now, not aware who it was that approached her, she raised her eyes with
the serious dignity with which she had received all other salutations,
and met his downward gaze--full of warm and honest feeling.
"Sister!" he said, and in brotherly fondness he bent towards her, and
left a kiss upon her mouth.
A hot glow, the lurid red of offended modesty or self-convicted guilt,
overspread her face; the lips parted, quivered, and closed tightly,
after an ineffectual effort to articulate; the room swam around her,
and Mr. Hammond caught her just in time to save her from falling. It
was Nature's vengeful reaction for the long and unnatural strain upon
her energies. She did not faint entirely away, although several moments
elapsed before she regained perfect consciousness of her situation
and surrounding objects. She had been placed in an easy-chair; her
head rested against her father's shoulder, and on the other side stood
Lewis, almost as pale as herself, holding a glass of wine to her lips.
Around her were grouped her mother, Lucy, and Philip. The guests had
withdrawn politely to the background, and maintained a respectful
silence.
"What have I betrayed?" was her first coherent reflection; and, with an
instinctive perception of the quarter where such disclosures would do
most harm, her eye turned with a sort of appealing terror to Lewis.
His heart leaped at the movement, revealing, as he fancied it did,
dependence upon his strength, recognition of his right to be with and
nearest to her.
"You are better," he said, with a moved tenderness he could not and
cared not to restrain.
The words, the manner, were an inexpressible relief to her fears, and
trying to return his smile, she would have arisen but for her father's
interposition.
"Sit still," he advised. "Mrs. Hunt, Lucy, Mr. Benson, will you
entertain our friends? She will be all right in a little while, Mr.
Hammond."
"Tableaux vivants!" said Lucy's soft, rich voice, as she advanced
towards the reassured guests. "This is a part of the performance not
set down in the programme. Quite theatrical, was it not?"
It is very possible that Philip Benson would not have regarded this as
an apropos or refined witticism, had any one else been the speaker; but
as the round, liquid tones rolled it forth, and her delicious laugh
led off the instant revival of mirth and badinage, he marvelled at
her consummate tact, her happy play of fancy (!), and returned devout
thanks to the stars that had bestowed upon him this prodigy of grace,
wit, and beauty. Sarah rallied speedily; and, contrary to the advice of
her father and husband, maintained her post in the drawing-room during
all the reception, which continued from half-past twelve to half-past
two.
It was a gay and shifting scene--a sparkling, murmuring tide, that
ebbed and flowed to and from the quartette who formed the attractive
power. Silks, laces, velvets, furs, and diamonds; faces young, old,
and middle-aged; handsome, fair, and homely; all decked in the same
conventional holiday smile; bodies tall and short, executing every
variety of bow and courtesy; voices sweet, sharp, and guttural,
uttering the senseless formula of congratulation--these were Sarah's
impressions of the tedious ceremonial. Restored to her rigid composure,
she too bowed and spoke the word or sentence custom exacted--an
emotionless automaton in seeming, while Lucy's matchless inflections
lent interest and beauty to the like nothings, as she rehearsed them
in her turn; and Philip Benson, having no solicitude for his bride's
health or ability to endure the fatigue, was collected enough to
compare the two, and, while exulting in his selection, to commiserate
the proprietor of the colder and less gifted sister.
At last the trial was over; the hospitable mansion was closed; the
parlors deserted; the preparation for travelling hurried through;
and the daughters went forth from their girlhood's home. Philip had
cordially invited Sarah and Lewis, by letter, to accompany Lucy and
himself to Georgia; but Sarah would not hear of it, and Lewis, while he
left the decision to her, was not sorry that she preferred to journey
instead with him alone. It was too cold to go northward, and the
Hammond's now proposed to proceed with the others as far as Baltimore,
there to diverge upon a Western and Southern tour, which was to occupy
three weeks, perhaps four.