AFTER CHRISTMAS EVE.
Merrily rang the bells next day, but Helen’s heart was very sad as she
met the smiling faces of her friends, and Mark had never been prayed for
more earnestly than on that Christmas morning, when Helen knelt at the
altar rail, and received the sacred symbols of a Saviour’s dying love,
asking that God would keep the soldier husband, hastening on to New
York, and from thence to Washington. Much the Silvertonians discussed
the wedding, and had Helen been the queen, she could hardly have been
stared at more curiously than she was that Christmas day, when late in
the afternoon she drove through the town with Katy, the villagers
looking admiringly after her, noting the tie of her bonnet, the
arrangement of her face trimmings, and discovering in both style and
fitness they had never discovered before. As the wife of Mark Ray, Helen
became suddenly a heroine, in whose presence poor Katy subsided
completely; nor was the interest at all diminished when, two days later,
Mrs. Banker came to Silverton and was met at the depot by Helen, whom
she hugged affectionately, calling her “my dear daughter,” and holding
her hand all the way to the covered sleigh waiting there for her.
Mrs. Banker was very fond of Helen; and not even the sight of the
farm-house, with its unpolished inmates, awakened a feeling of regret
that her only son had not looked higher for a wife. She was satisfied
with her new daughter, and insisted upon taking her back to New York.
“I am very lonely now, lonelier than you can possibly be,” she said to
Mrs. Lennox, “and you will not refuse her to me for a few weeks at
least. It will do us both good, and make the time of Mark’s absence so
much shorter.”
“Yes, mother, let Helen go. I will try to fill her place,” Katy said,
though while she said it her heart throbbed with pain and dread as she
thought how desolate she should be without her sister.
But it was right, and Katy urged Helen’s going, bearing up bravely so
long as Helen was in sight, but shedding bitter tears when at last she
was gone, tears which were only stayed when kind old Uncle Ephraim
offered to take her to the little grave, where, from experience, he knew
she always found rest and peace. The winter snows were on it now, but
Katy knew just where the daisies were, and the blue violets which with
the spring would bloom again, feeling comforted as she thought of that
eternal spring in the bright world above, where her child had gone. And
so that night, when they gathered again around the fire in the pleasant
little parlor, the mother and the old people did not miss Helen half so
much as they had feared they might, for Katy sang her sweetest songs and
wore her sunniest smile, while she told them of Helen’s new home, and
talked of whatever else she thought would interest and please them.
“Little Sunbeam,” Uncle Ephraim called her now, instead of “Katy-did,”
and in his prayer that first night of Helen’s absence he asked, in his
touching way, “that God would bless his little Sunbeam, and not let her
grow tired of living there alone with folks so odd and old.”
* * * * *
“MARRIED—On Christmas Eve, at St. John’s Church, Silverton, Mass., by
the Rev. Mr. Kelly, Capt. MARK RAY, of the —th Regiment, N. Y. S. Vols.,
to MISS HELEN LENNOX, of Silverton.”
Such was the announcement which appeared in several of the New York
papers two days after Christmas, and such the announcement which Bell
Cameron read at the breakfast table on the morning of the day when Mrs.
Banker started for Silverton.
“Here is something which will perhaps interest _you_,” she said, passing
the paper to Juno, who had come down late, and was looking cross and
jaded from the effects of last night’s dissipation.
Taking the paper from her sister’s hand, Juno glanced at the paragraph
indicated by Bell; then, as she caught Mark’s name, she glanced again
with a startled, incredulous look, her cheeks and lips turning white as
she read that Mark Ray was lost to her forever, and that in spite of the
stolen letter Helen Lennox was his wife.
“What is it, Juno?” Mrs. Cameron asked, noticing her daughter’s
agitation.
Juno told her what it was, and then handing her the paper let her read
it for herself.
“Impossible! there is some mistake! How was it brought about?” Mrs.
Cameron said, darting a curious glance at Bell, whose face betrayed
nothing as she leisurely sipped her coffee and remarked, “I always
thought it would come to this, for I knew he liked her. It is a splendid
match.”
Whatever Juno thought she kept it to herself, just as she kept her room
the entire day, complaining of a racking headache, and ordering the
curtains to be dropped, as the light hurt her eyes, she said to Bell,
who, really pitying her now, never suggested that the darkened room was
more to hide her tears than to save her eyes, and who sent away all
callers with the message that Juno was sick—all but Sybil Grandon, who
insisted so hard upon seeing her _dear friend_ that she was admitted to
Juno’s room, talking at once of the wedding, and making every one of
Juno’s nerves quiver with pain as she descanted upon the splendid match
it was for Helen, or indeed for any girl.
“I had given you to him,” she said, “but I see I was mistaken. It was
Helen he preferred, unless you jilted him, as perhaps you did.”
Here was a temptation Juno could not resist, and she replied, haughtily,
“I am not one to boast of conquests, but ask Captain Ray himself if you
wish to know why I did not marry him.”
Sybil Grandon was not deceived, but she good-naturedly suffered that
young lady to hope she was, and answered, laughingly, “I can’t say I
honor your judgment in refusing him, but you know best. However, I trust
that will not prevent your friendly advances towards his bride. Mrs.
Banker has gone after her, I understand, and I want you to call with me
as soon as convenient. _Mrs. Mark Ray_ will be the belle of the season,
depend upon it,” and gathering up her furs Mrs. Grandon kissed Juno
affectionately and then swept from the room.
That Mrs. Cameron had hunted for and failed to find the stolen letter,
and that she associated its disappearance with Mark Ray’s sudden
marriage, Bell was very sure, from the dark, anxious look upon her face
when she came from her room, whither she had repaired immediately after
breakfast; but whatever her suspicions were, they did not find form in
words. Mark was lost. It was too late to help that now, and as a politic
woman of the world, Mrs. Cameron decided to let the matter rest, and by
_patronizing_ the young bride prove that she had never thought of Mark
Ray for her son-in-law. Hence it was that the Cameron carriage and the
Grandon carriage stood together before Mrs. Banker’s door, while the
ladies who had come in the carriages paid their respects to Mrs. Ray,
rallying her upon the march she had stolen upon them, telling her how
delighted they were to have her back again, and hoping they should see
each other a great deal during the coming winter.
The Camerons and Sybil Grandon were not alone in calling upon the bride.
Those who had liked Helen Lennox did not find her less desirable now
that she was Helen Ray, and numberless were the attentions bestowed upon
her and the invitations she received.
But with few exceptions Helen declined the latter, feeling that with her
husband in so much danger, it was better not to mingle in gay society.
She was very happy with Mrs. Banker, who petted and caressed and loved
her almost as much as if she had been her own daughter. Mark’s letters,
too, which came nearly every day, were bright sun-spots in her
existence, so full were they of tender love and kind thoughtfulness for
her. He was very happy, he wrote, in knowing that at home there was a
dear little brown-haired wife, waiting and praying for him, and but for
the separation from her he was well content with a soldier’s life. Once
Helen thought seriously of going to him for a week or more, but, the
project was prevented by the sudden arrival in New York of Katy, who
came one night to Mrs. Banker’s, with her face as white as ashes, and a
wild expression in her eyes as she said to Helen,
“I am going to Wilford. He is dying. He has sent for me. I ought to go
on to-night, but cannot, my head aches so,” and pressing both her hands
upon her head Katy sank fainting into Helen’s arms.