WHICH IS THE BRIDE?
His horse went on, hoof after hoof,
Went on and never stopped,
Till down behind the Mansion roof,
At once, the red sun dropped.
What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
Into a lover's head!--
"Oh, Heaven!" to himself he cried,
"If--if she should be dead!"
--_Wordsworth_.
Ishmael galloped along the road leading to The Beacon, followed at a
short distance by the professor, who found some difficulty in
keeping up with his master.
Ishmael's aspect was not altogether that of a happy lover going to
see his beloved; for his countenance was thoughtful, grave, and sad.
How could it be otherwise with him, after the scene he had left? His
thoughts, his sympathies, his regrets were with Claudia, the
earliest friend of his friendless childhood; with Claudia, grand,
noble, and beautiful, even in the wreck of her happiness; with
Claudia, loving now as she had never loved before. Yes, his
thoughts, his regrets, his sympathies were with her, but where were
his love, his esteem, and his admiration?
As he rode on the figure of Claudia, in her woe, became lost in a
shadow that was gradually stealing over his soul-one of those
mysterious shadows that approaching misfortunes are said to cast
before them. In vain he tried by reason to dispel this gloom. The
nearer he approached The Beacon, the deeper it settled upon his
spirit!
What could it mean? Was all well at The Beacon? Was all well with
Bee?
Reuben Gray, when questioned, had said that he had not heard from
them in a week. And what might not have happened in a week? At that
thought a pang like death shot through his heart, and he put spurs
to his horse and urged him forward at his best speed, but with all
his haste, the short February day was drawing to its close, and the
descending sun was sinking behind the mansion-house and its group of
out-buildings when Ishmael rode into the front yard, followed
closely by his servant. It was but the work of a moment to spring
from his horse, throw the reins to the professor, bound Tip the
steps to the front door and ring the bell. The door was opened by
Mr. Middleton in person. This was an unprecedented, and ominous
circumstance.
Bee's father looked very grave as he held out his hand, saying:
"How do you do, Ishmael? I am glad that you have all returned
safely."
"How do you do, Mr. Middleton? I hope--I hope that I find you all
well?" said Ishmael, striving to speak composedly.
"Y-yes. Come into the library, my young friend; I wish to speak with
you alone before you see any other member of the family," said Mr.
Middleton.
Nearly overwhelmed with his emotions, dreading, he knew not what,
Ishmael followed Mr. Middleton into the library and dropped into the
chair that gentleman pushed towards him.
"Bee-Bee! For Heaven's sake tell me? Is she well?" he asked.
"Y-yes," answered Mr. Middleton hesitatingly, gravely. "Bee is
well."
"Good Heaven, sir, can you not speak plainly? We say of the sainted
dead that they are well; that it is well with them. Oh, tell me,
tell me, is Bee alive and well?" exclaimed the young man, as drops
of sweat, forced forth by his great agony of suspense, started from
his brow.
"Yes, yes! Bee is alive and well."
Ishmael dropped his head upon his hands and breathed a fervent:
"Thanks be to God!"
"I have given you unintentional alarm, Ishmael."
"Oh, sir, alarm does not begin to express what I have suffered. You
have wrung my heart. But let that pass, sir. What is it that you
wished to say to me?" said Ishmael, raising his head.
"Take a glass of wine first," said Mr. Middleton, bringing a
decanter and glasses from a side-table.
"Thank you, sir, I never touch it. Pray do not regard me; but go on
with what you were about to say."
"I will then, Ishmael. And I hope you will forgive me if I speak
very plainly."
"Speak then, sir; Bee's father has a holy right to speak plainly to
Bee's betrothed," replied Ishmael, wondering what portentous
communication these words prefaced.
"It is as Bee's father, and no less as your friend, Ishmael, that I
do speak. Ishmael," continued Mr. Middleton solemnly, "we all knew
your strong, your very strong attachment to Claudia Merlin before
she became Lady Vincent--'
"Well, sir?" said the young man gravely.
"We all knew how nearly heart-broken you were for a considerable
time after her marriage, and indeed until you found consolation and
healing in the sympathy and affection of my daughter Beatrice."
"Yes, sir," said Ishmael, speaking low and bending his head.
"You possibly mistook this sisterly love of the companion of your
childhood for that deeper love that should bind husband and wife
together for time and for eternity. And you asked me to give you
Bee, and I, rashly perhaps, consented--for who could foresee the
end?"
Ishmael grew very pale, but compressed his lips, and governed his
strong emotions.
Mr. Middleton continued:
"Lady Vincent fell into trouble. She needed the help of a man with a
strong arm, wise head, and pure heart. You were that man, Ishmael.
At her first cry for help wafted across the Atlantic, you threw up
all your professional prospects, left your office and your clients
to take care of themselves, and flew to her relief. It was to your
wonderful intelligence, inspired, no doubt, by your pure love, that
she owed her deliverance from all the snares laid for her
destruction. You have rescued her and brought her safely home. Are
you listening, Ishmael?"
"I am listening, sir," answered the young man very gravely. By this
time he had begun to understand the drift of Mr. Middleton's
discourse, and had recovered his composure, and his look was
somewhat stern.
"Well, then, in a word--Lord Vincent is dead, Claudia is free, you
have been her constant companion since her widowhood. Now, then,
Ishmael, if in these days of close companionship with Lady Vincent
your love for Claudia Merlin has revived--"
"Mr. Middleton, how can you speak to me thus?" interrupted Ishmael,
in a stern voice, and with flashing eyes, and in very righteous
indignation. The next instant, however, he recovered himself. "I beg
your pardon, sir," he said sorrowfully. "I should not have spoken so
to the father of my betrothed--to my own father, I might almost say.
I beg your pardon sincerely."
"Compose yourself, Ishmael, and listen to me. I speak the words of
truth and soberness, and you must hear them. I say if in these days
of intimate association with Lady Vincent your love for Claudia
Merlin has revived, you must break with Bee."
"Mr. Middleton!"
"Gently, Ishmael! If this is so, it cannot be helped, and none of us
blame you. The human heart should be free. Nay, it will be free. So--"
"But, Mr. Middleton--"
"Gently, gently, Ishmael, I beg; hear me out. I know what you were
about to say. You were about to talk of your plighted word, of
fidelity, and of honor. But I think, Ishmael, that, if it is as I
suppose, there would be more honor in frankly stating the case to
Bee, and asking for the release that she would surely give you than
there would be in marrying her while you love another. You should
not offer her a divided love. Bee is worthy of a whole heart."
"Do I not know it?" broke forth Ishmael, in strong emotion. "Oh, do
I not know it? And do I not give her my whole, unwavering, undivided
heart? Mr. Middleton, look at me," said the young man, fixing his
truthful, earnest, eloquent eyes upon that gentleman's face. "Look
at me! It is true that I once cherished a boyish passion for Lady
Vincent--unreasoning, ardent, vehement as such boyish passions are
apt to be. But, sir, her marriage with Lord Vincent killed that
passion quite. It was dead and buried, without the possibility of
resurrection. It was impossible for me to love another man's wife.
Every honorable principle, every delicate instinct of my nature
forbade it. On her marriage day my boyish flame burned to ashes;
and, sir, such ashes as are never rekindled again. Never, under any
circumstances. It is true that I have felt the deepest sympathy for
Lady Vincent in her sorrows; but not more, sir, than it is my nature
to feel for any suffering woman; not more, sir, I assure you, than I
felt for that poor, little middle-aged widow who was my first
client; not more, scarcely so much, as I felt for Lady Hurstmonceux
in her desertion. Oh, sir, the love that I gave to Bee is not the
transient passion of a boy, it is the steadfast affection of a man.
And since the blessed day of our betrothal my heart has known no
shadow of turning from its fidelity to her. Sir, do you believe me?"
"I do, I do, Ishmael, and I beg you to forgive me for my doubts of
you."
"For myself, I have nothing to forgive. But, sir, I hope, I trust,
that you have not disturbed Bee with these doubts."
"Well, Ishmael, you know, I felt it my duty gradually to prepare her
mind for the shock that she might have received had those old coals
of yours been rekindled."
"Then Heaven forgive you, Mr. Middleton! Where is she? Can I see her
now?"
"Of course you can, Ishmael. In any case, you should have seen her
once more. If you had been going to break with her, you would have
had to see her to ask from her own lips your release."
"Where is she--where?"
"In the drawing room--waiting, like the good girl that she is, to
give you your freedom, should you desire it of her."
"I say--God forgive you, Mr. Middleton!" said Ishmael, starting off.
Suddenly he stopped; he was very much agitated, and he did not wish
to break in on Bee in that disturbed state. He poured out a large
glass of water and drank it off; stood still a minute to recover his
composure, and then went quietly to the drawing room. Very softly he
opened the door.
There she was. Ah, it seemed ages since he had seen her last. And
now he stood for a moment looking at her, before he advanced into
the room.
She was standing at the west window, apparently looking out at the
wintry, red sunset. Although it was afternoon, she still wore a
long, flowing, white merino morning dress, and her bright golden
brown hair was unwound, hanging loose upon her shoulders. The beams
of the setting sun, streaming in full upon her, illumined the
outlines of her beautiful head and graceful form. A lovely picture
she made as she stood there like some fair spirit.
Ishmael advanced softly towards her, stood behind her.
"Bee; dear, dear Bee!" he said, putting his arms around her.
She turned in a moment, exclaiming:
"Dear Ishmael; dearest brother!" and was caught to his bosom. She
dropped her head upon his shoulder, and burst into a flood of tears.
She wept long and convulsively, and he held her closely to his
heart, and soothed her with loving words. It seemed she did not take
in the full purport of those words, for presently she ceased
weeping, gently disengaged herself from his embrace, and sat down
upon the corner of the sofa, with her elbow resting on his arm, and
her head leaning upon her hand. And then, as he looked at her,
Ishmael saw for the first time how changed, how sadly changed she
was.
Bee's face had always been fair, clear, and delicate, but now it was
so white, wan, and shadowy that her sweet blue eyes seemed
preternaturally large, bright, and hollow. She began to speak, but
with an effort that was very perceptible:
"Dear Ishmael, dearest and ever dearest brother, I did not mean to
weep so; it was very foolish; but then you know we girls weep for
almost anything, or nothing; so you--"
Her voice sank into silence.
"My darling, why should you weep at all? and why do you call me
brother?" whispered Ishmael, sitting down beside her, and drawing
her towards him.
But again she gently withdrew herself from him, and looking into his
face with her clear eyes and sweet smile, she said:
"Why? Because, dear Ishmael, though we shall never meet again after
to-day--though it would not be right that we should--yet I shall
always hold you as the dearest among my brothers. Oh, did you think;
did you think it could be otherwise? Did you think this dispensation
could turn me against you? Oh, no, no, no, Ishmael; it could not.
Nothing that you could do could turn me against you, because you
would do no wrong. You have not done wrong now, dear; do not imagine
that any of us think so. We do not presume to blame you--none of us;
not my father, not my mother--least of all myself. It was---"
Again her sinking voice dropped into silence. "Bee; darling, darling
Bee, you do not know what you are talking about. I love you, Bee; I
love you," said Ishmael earnestly, again trying to draw her to his
heart; but again she gently prevented him, as with a wan smile, and
in a low voice, she answered:
"I know you do, dear; I never doubted that you did. You always loved
me as if I were your own little sister. But not as you loved her,
Ishmael."
"Bee---"
"Hush, dear, let me speak while I have strength to do so. She was
your first love, Ishmael; your first friend, you remember. With all
her faults--and they are but as the spots upon the sun--she is a
glorious creature, and worthy of you. I always knew that I was not
to be compared to her."
"No, Heaven knows that you were not," breathed Ishmael inaudibly, as
he watched Bee.
"All your friends, Ishmael--all who love you and who are interested
in your welfare--if they could influence your choice, would direct
it to her, rather than to me. You are making your name illustrious;
you will some time attain a high station in society. And who is
there so worthy to bear your name and share your station as that
queenly woman?"
"Bee, Bee, you almost break my heart. I tell you I love you, Bee. I
love you!"
"I know you do, dear; I have said that you do; and you are
distressed about me; but do not be so, dear. Indeed I shall be very
well; I shall have work to occupy me and duties to interest me;
indeed I shall be happy, Ishmael; indeed I shall; and I shall always
love you, as a little sister loves her dearest brother; so take your
trothplight back again, dear, and with it take my prayers for your
happiness," said Bee, beginning to draw the engagement ring from her
finger.
"Bee, Bee, what are you doing? You will not listen to me. I love
you, Bee! I love you. Hear me! There is no woman in the world that
can rival you for an instant in my heart; no, not one; and there has
never been one. That boyish passion I once cherished for another,
and that haunts your imagination so fatally, was but a blaze of
straw that quickly burned out. It was a fever common to boyhood. Few
men, arrived at years of discretion, Bee, would like to marry their
first follies--for it is a misnomer to call them first loves. Yes,
very few men would like to do so, Bee, least of all would I. What I
give you, Bee, is a constant, steadfast love, a love for time and
for eternity. Oh, my dearest, hear me, and believe me," he said,
speaking fervently, earnestly, forcibly.
She had started and caught her breath; and now she was looking and
listening, as though she doubted the evidence of her own eyes and
ears.
He had taken her hand and was resetting the ring more firmly on the
finger, from which, indeed, she had not quite withdrawn it.
"Do you believe me now, dear Bee?" he softly inquired.
"Believe you? Why, Ishmael, I never doubted your word in all my
life. But--but I cannot realize it. I cannot bring it home to my
heart yet. How is it possible it should be true? How is it possible
you should choose me, when you might marry her?" said Bee, with
large, wondering eyes.
"How is it possible, my darling one, that you should not know how
much more lovely you are than any other girl, or woman, I have ever
seen--except one."
"Except one, Ishmael?" she inquired, with a faint smile.
"Except the Countess of Hurstmonceux, who is almost as good and as
beautiful as you. Bee, my darling, are you satisfied now?"
"Oh, Ishmael, I cannot realize it. I have been schooling my heart so
long, so long, to resign you."
"So long? How long, my dearest?"
"Oh, ever since we heard that she was free. And that has been--let
me see--why, indeed, it has been but a week. But oh, Ishmael, it
seems to me that years and years have passed since my father told me
to prepare for a disappointment."
"Heaven pardon him; I scarcely can," said Ishmael to himself.
"But is it indeed true? Do you really love me best of all? And can
you be satisfied with me, with me?"
"'Satisfied' with you, dearest? Well, I suppose that is the best
word after all. Yes, dearest; yes, perfectly, eternally satisfied
with you, Bee," he said, drawing her to his heart. And this time she
did not withdraw herself from his embrace; but, with a soft sob of
joy, she dropped her head upon his bosom.
"You believe my love now, Bee?" he stooped and whispered.
"Oh, yes, yes, yes, Ishmael; and I am so happy," she murmured.
"Now then listen to me, dearest, for I have something to say to you.
Do you remember, love, that day you came to me in the arbor? I was
sleeping the heavy sleep of inebriation; and you wept over me and
veiled my humbled head with your own dear handkerchief, and glided
away as softly as you came. Do you remember, dear, that night you
sat up at your window, watching and waiting to let me in with your
own dear hand, that none should witness my humiliation? Bee,
apparently that was a compassionate sister, trying to save from
obloquy an earing brother. But really, Bee, as the truth stands in
the spiritual world, it is this: A sinner was sleeping upon one of
the foulest gulfs in the depths of perdition. A single turn in his
sleep and he would have been eternally lost; but an angel came from
Heaven, and with her gentle hand softly aroused him and drew him out
of danger. Bee, I was that sinner on the brink of eternal woe, and
you that angel from Heaven who saved him. Bee, from that day I knew
that God had sent you to be my guardian spirit through this world.
And when I forget that day, Bee, may the Lord forget me. And when I
cease to adore you for it, Bee, may the Lord cease to love me. But
as love of Heaven is sure, Bee, so is my love for you. And both are
eternal. Oh, love, bride, wife; hear me; believe me; love me!"
"Oh, I do, I do, Ishmael, and I am so happy. And the very spring of
my happiness in the thought that I content you."
"With an infinite content, Bee."
"And now let us go to my dear mother; she will be so glad; she loves
you so much, you know, Ishmael," said Bee, gently releasing herself--and
looking up, her fair face now rosy with delicate bloom and the tones
of her voice thrilling with subdued joy.
Ishmael arose and gave her his arm, and they passed out of the
drawing room and entered the morning room, where Mrs. Middleton sat
among her younger children.
"Mamma," said Bee, "we were none of us right; here is Ishmael to
speak for himself."
"I know it, dear; your papa has just been in here, and told me all
about it. How do you do, Ishmael? Welcome home, my son," said Mrs.
Middleton, rising and holding out her arms.
Ishmael warmly embraced Bee's mother.
But by this time the children had gathered around him, clamorous for
recognition. All children were very fond of Ishmael.
While he was shaking hands with the boys, kissing the little girls,
and lifting the youngest up in his arms, Mr. Middleton came in, and
the evening passed happily.
Ishmael remained one happy week with Bee, and then leaving her,
recovered, blooming, and happy, he returned to Washington, where he
was affectionately welcomed by the two fair and gentle old ladies,
who had put his rooms in holiday order to receive him. He returned
in good time for the opening of the spring term of the circuit
court, and soon found himself surrounded with clients, and the
business of his office prospered greatly.