VALENCIA.
Very extensive preparations were making at Prospect Hill for the
double wedding to occur on the 15th. After much debate and
consultation, Fanny had decided to take the doctor then; and thus she,
too, shared largely in the general interest and excitement which
pervaded everything.
Both brides elect seemed very happy, but in a very different way; for,
while Fanny was quiet and undemonstrative, Lucy seemed wild with joy,
and danced gayly about the house--now in the kitchen, where the cake
was making; now in the chamber where the plain sewing was done, and
then flitting to her own room in quest of Valencia, who was sent on
divers errands, the little lady thinking that, now the time was so
near, it would be proper for her to remain indoors and not show
herself in public quite as freely as she had been in the habit of
doing.
So she remained at home, while they missed her in the back streets and
bylanes, the Widow Hobbs, who was still an invalid, pining for a sight
of her bright face, and only half compensated for its absence by the
charities which Valencia brought; the smart waiting-maid putting on
innumerable airs and making Mrs. Hobbs feel keenly how greatly she
thought herself demeaned by coming to such a heathenish place as that.
The Hanoverians, too, missed her in the street, but for this they
made ample amends by discussing the doings at Prospect Hill and
commenting upon the bridal trousseau which was sent up from New York
the very week before Christmas, thus affording a most fruitful theme
for conversation for the women and girls engaged in trimming the
church.
There were dresses of every conceivable fabric, they said, but none
were quite so grand as the wedding-dress itself--the heavy white
silk which could "stand alone," and trailed "a full half-yard behind."
It was also whispered round that, not content with seeing the effect
of her bridal robes as they lay upon the bed, Miss Lucy Harcourt had
actually tried them on--wreath, veil and all--and stood before the
glass until Miss Fanny had laughed at her for being so vain and
foolish, and said she was a pretty specimen for a sober clergyman's
wife.
For all this gossip the villagers were indebted mostly to Miss
Valencia Le Barre, who, ever since her arrival at Prospect Hill, had
been growing somewhat disenchanted with the young mistress she had
expected to rule even more completely than she had ruled Mrs.
Meredith. But in this she was mistaken, and it did not improve her
never very amiable temper to find that she could not with safety
appropriate more than half her mistress' handkerchiefs, collars,
cuffs, and gloves, to say nothing of perfumery, and pomades, and, as
this was a new state of things with Valencia, she chafed at the
administration under which she had so willingly put herself, and told
things of her mistress which no sensible servant would ever have
reported. And Lucy gave her plenty to tell.
Frank and outspoken as a child, she acted as she felt, and did try on
the bridal dress, screaming with pleased delight when Valencia
fastened the veil and let its fleecy folds fall gracefully around her.
"I wonder what Arthur will think, I do so wish he was here," she had
said, ordering a hand-glass brought that she might see herself from
behind and know just how much her dress did trail, and how it looked
beneath the costly veil.
She was very beautiful in her bridal robes, and she kept them on till
Fanny began to chide her for her vanity, and, even then, she lingered
before the mirror, as if loath to take them off.
"I don't believe in presentiments," she said to Fanny; "but, do you
know, it seems to me just as if I should never wear this again," and
she smoothed thoughtfully the folds of the heavy silk she had just
laid upon the bed. "I don't know what can happen to prevent it, unless
Arthur should die. He was so pale last Sunday and seemed so weak that
I shuddered every time I looked at him. I mean to drive round there
this afternoon," she continued. "I suppose it is too cold for him to
venture as far as here, and he has no carriage, either."
She went to the parsonage that afternoon, and the women in the church
saw her as she drove by, the gorgeous colors of her carriage blanket
flashing in the wintry sunshine just as the diamonds flashed upon the
hand she waved gayly towards them.
There was a little too much of the lady patroness about her quite to
suit the plain Hanoverians, especially those who were neither high
enough or low enough to be honored with her notice, and they returned
to their wreathmaking and gossip, wondering under their breath if it
would not, on the whole, have been just as well if their clergyman had
married Anna Ruthven instead of this fine city girl with her Parisian
manners.
A gleam of intelligence shot from the gray eyes of Valencia, who was
in a most unreasonable mood.
"She did not like to stain her hands with the nasty hemlock more than
some other folks," she had said, when, after the trying on of the
bridal dress, Lucy had remonstrated with her for some duty neglected,
and then bidden her to go to the church and help if she were needed.
"I must certainly dismiss you," Lucy had said, wondering how Mrs.
Meredith had borne so long with the insolent girl, who went
unwillingly to the church, where she was at work when the carriage
drove by.
She had thought many times of the letter she had read, and, more than
once, when particularly angry, it had been upon her lips to tell her
mistress that she was not the first whom Mr. Leighton had asked to be
his wife, if, indeed, she was his choice at all; but there was
something in Lucy's manner which held her back; besides which, she
was, perhaps, unwilling to confess to her own meanness in reading the
stolen letter.
"I could tell them something if I would," she thought, as she bent
over the hemlock boughs and listened to the remarks; but, for that
time, she kept the secret and worked on moodily, while the
unsuspecting Lucy went her way and was soon alighting at the rectory
gate.
Arthur saw her as she came up the walk and went to meet her.
He was looking very pale and miserable, and his clothes hung loosely
upon him; but he welcomed her kindly leading her in to the fire, and
trying to believe that he was glad to see her sitting there with her
little high-heeled boots upon the fender and the bright hues of her
Balmoral just showing beneath her dress of blue merino.
She went all over the house, as she usually did, suggesting
alterations and improvements, and greatly confusing good Mrs. Brown,
who trudged obediently after her, wondering what she and her master
were ever to do with that gay-plumaged bird, whose ways were so unlike
their own.
"You must drive with me to the church," she said at last to Arthur,
"Fresh air will do you good, and you stay moped up too much. I wanted
you to-day at Prospect Hill, for this morning's express from New York
brought----"
She stood up on tiptoe to whisper the great news to him, but his
pulses did not quicken in the least, even when she told him how
charming was the bridal dress. He was standing before the mirror and,
glancing at himself, he said, half laughingly, half sadly:
"I am a pitiful-looking bridegroom to go with all that finery: I
should not think you would want me, Lucy."
"But I do," she answered, holding his hand and leading him to the
carriage, which took him to the church.
He had not intended going there as long as there was an excuse for
staying away, and he felt himself grow sick and faint when he stood
amid the Christmas decorations and remembered the last year when he
and Anna had fastened the wreaths upon the wall.
They were trimming the church very elaborately in honor of him and his
bride, and white artificial flowers, so natural that they could not be
detected, were mingled with scarlet leaves and placed among the mass
of green. The effect was very fine and Arthur tried to praise it, but
his face belied his words; and, after he was gone, the disappointed
girls declared that he acted more like a man about to be hung than one
so soon to be married.
It was very late that night when Lucy summoned Valencia to comb out
her long, thick curls, and Valencia was tired, and cross, and sleepy,
handling the brush so awkwardly and snarling her mistress's hair so
often that Lucy expostulated with her sharply, and this awoke the
slumbering demon, which, bursting into full life, could no longer be
restrained; and, in amazement, which kept her silent, Lucy listened
while Valencia taunted her "with standing in Anna Ruthven's shoes,"
and told her all she knew of the letter stolen by Mrs. Meredith, and
the one she carried to Arthur. But Valencia's anger quickly cooled,
and she trembled with fear when she saw how deathly white her mistress
grew at first and heard the loud beating of her heart, which seemed
trying to burst from its prison and fall bleeding at the feet of the
poor, wretched girl, around whose lips the white foam gathered as she
motioned Valencia to stop and whispered:
"I am dying!"
She was not dying, but the fainting fit which ensued was longer and
more like death than that which had come upon Anna when she heard that
Arthur was lost. Twice they thought her heart had ceased to beat, and,
in an agony of remorse, Valencia hung over her, accusing herself as
her murderer, but giving no other explanation to those around her
than: "I was combing her hair when the white froth spirted all over
her wrapper, and she said that she was dying."
And that was all the family knew of the strange attack, which lasted
till the dawn of the day, and left upon Lucy's face a look as if years
and years of anguish had passed over her young head and left its
footprints behind.
Early in the morning she asked to see Valencia alone, and the
repentant girl went to her prepared to take back all she had said and
declare the whole a lie. But Lucy wrung the truth from her, and she
repeated the story again so clearly that Lucy had no longer a doubt
that Anna was preferred to herself, and sending Valencia away, she
moaned piteously:
"Oh, what shall I do? What is my duty?"
The part which hurt her most of all was the terrible certainty that
Arthur did not love her as he loved Anna Ruthven. She saw it now just
as it was; how, in an unguarded moment, he had offered himself to save
her good name from gossip, and how, ever since, his life had been a
constant struggle to do his duty by her.
"Poor Arthur," she sobbed, "yours has been a hard lot trying to act
the love you did not feel; but it shall be so no longer. Lucy will set
you free."
This was her final decision, but she did not reach it till a day and a
night had passed, during which she lay with her white face turned to
the wall, saying she wanted nothing except to be left alone.
"When I can, I'll tell you," she had said to Fanny and her aunt, when
they insisted upon knowing the cause of her distress. "When I can I'll
tell you. Leave me alone till then."
So they ceased to worry her, but Fanny sat constantly in the room
watching the motionless figure, which took whatever she offered, but
otherwise gave no sign of life until the morning of the second day,
when it turned slowly towards her, the livid lips quivering piteously
and making an attempt to smile as they said:
"Fanny, I can tell you now; I have made up my mind."
Fanny's black eyes were dim with the truest tears she had ever shed
when Lucy's story was ended, and her voice was very low as she asked:
"And do you mean to give him up at this late hour?"
"Yes, I mean to give him up. I have been over the entire ground many
times, even to the deep humiliation of what people will say, and I
have come each time to the same conclusion. It is right that Arthur
should be released and I shall release him."
"And you--what will you do?" Fanny asked, gazing in wonder and awe at
the young girl, who answered:
"I do not know; I have not thought. I guess God will take care of
that."
He would, indeed, take care of that just as he took care of her,
inclining the Hetherton family to be so kind and tender towards her,
and keeping Arthur from the house during the time when the Christmas
decorations were completed and the Christmas festival was held.
Many were the inquiries made for her, and many the thanks and wishes
for her speedy restoration sent her by those whom she had so
bountifully remembered.
Thornton Hastings, too, who had come to town and was present at the
church on Christmas-eve, asked for her with almost as much interest as
Arthur, although the latter had hoped she was not seriously ill and
expressed a regret that she was not there, saying he should call on
her on the morrow after the morning service.
"Oh, I cannot see him here. I must tell him there, at the rectory, in
the very room where he asked Anna and me both to be his wife," Lucy
said when Fanny reported Arthur's message. "I am able to go there and
I must. It will be fine sleighing to-morrow. See, the snow is falling
now," and pushing back the curtain, Lucy looked dreamily out upon the
fast whitening ground, sighing, as she remembered the night when the
first snowflakes fell and she stood watching them with Arthur at her
side.
Fanny did not oppose her cousin, and, with a kiss upon the
blue-veined forehead, she went to her own room, leaving Lucy to think
over for the hundredth time what she would say to Arthur.