GIVING IN MARRIAGE.
It was soon known in Hampstead, not who Robert Macpherson was, but that
he was to marry Emma Schuyler, instead of the haughty Julia, to whom
every one had given him. Julia was not a favorite in town, and when it
was rumored that she was bitterly disappointed, and that the headache
which had confined her to her room for several days was owing more to
her disappointment than to cold taken in the river, I think the lower
class rejoiced to know that even her proud heart could ache and her
scornful eyes weep from humiliation. Of Alice’s grief nothing was known
outside the house on the Hill, though many comments were made concerning
Godfrey’s stay with Gertie when she was so sick, and his devotion to her
was imputed to a feeling stronger than friendship for the beautiful girl
so popular with everybody. But nobody dreamed of the broken engagement
which the colonel tried to mend, bidding Alice wear the ring as if
nothing had happened, and encouraging her to believe that all would yet
be well between herself and Godfrey. The colonel had faith in Gertie and
knew she would keep her word, and hoped and believed that what he had
desired so long would ultimately come to pass.
Emma’s wedding was to be a very quiet morning affair at the church, with
a breakfast afterward at the house, and then the married pair were to go
at once to New York and embark the following day for England.
By mere accident Julia had heard something of Robert’s antecedents, and
as she insisted upon knowing the whole, Emma had told her who Robert
was, and the knowledge had gone far toward reconciling the proud girl to
her loss.
Emma was welcome to a nephew of the Lyles, she said, with a haughty toss
of her head, and when Tom Barton, who was still keeping sober for
Gertie’s sake, was suggested to her as groomsman she did not object, and
received him graciously when he came round to talk the matter over.
Alice was to be the other bridesmaid, and it was confidently expected
that Godfrey would stand with her. But this he refused to do, saying in
his letter to his father that he should not be present at the ceremony.
His coming home could only bring pain to himself and others, and he
chose to remain in New York, where he should see Emma before she sailed
and make it right with her. When Alice heard this she took the ring from
her finger a second time, and inclosing it in a blank sheet of paper
sent it back to Godfrey, with the feeling that all was really over
between them, and that he never would be hers even if he did not marry
Gertie. How she hated her rival, and how glad she was to know that she
would not be present at the wedding.
“If she comes here I certainly shall leave, for the same roof cannot
cover us both for a single hour,” she said.
But she had nothing to fear from Gertie, who was neither able nor
desirous of attending the wedding. She saw both Robert and Emma
frequently, and through the former was carrying out the plan she had
formed when he first told her who he was, and gave her the cairngorms
from his grandmother. Then she had thought: “If Julia marries Robert I
will divide the stones with her, for no one can have a better right to
them than Robert’s wife;” and now that it was Emma instead of Julia, she
was far better satisfied, and sent a part of the stones to New York,
where they were made into bracelets, earrings and pin as her present to
the bride.
It is not my intention to linger long over that wedding, which came off
on one bright morning in September, and at which no one was present save
a few intimate friends. Julia, as bridesmaid, was very beautiful, we
heard, and at the breakfast coquetted a good deal with Tom, who, after
all was over, and the bridal pair gone, came and told us all about it,
and said Alice nearly took his head off when he joked her about
Godfrey’s absence.
“And if you believe me, she is kind of sweet on the rector,” he said;
“and now that everything seems to be topsy-turvy and upside down, I
would not be surprised if she became our rectoress some day. Wouldn’t
she be a jolly one though, with all her cranks and furbelows.”
She had gone to New York with the bridal party, and Julia had gone, too,
so that they were very lonely at Schuyler Hill, and within a day or two
Edith came for Gertie to go home.
“Col. Schuyler wishes it; he misses you, I think, almost as much as I
do,” Edith said, and that availed to take Gertie back more than anything
else, I think.
It was the colonel himself who met her at the door, and led her into the
house, and told her she was welcome home, and he was glad to see her.
And he did seem happier for having her again, and as it was through him
she had suffered so much, he tried by every means in his power to make
amends, and withheld from her nothing save the one thing which alone
could bring the color back to her face, and ease the heavy pain at her
heart. Godfrey was studying very hard at his profession, and wrote
occasionally to his father stiff, formal letters, pertaining wholly to
his health or business, and not at all like the funny, rollicky epistles
he had been wont to dash off when he was not as sad and spiritless as
now. Once he wrote to Gertie, but she did not answer the letter, though
she asked Edith to write and say she had received it, and that he must
not write again. Those October days were very dreary ones to Gertie, and
she was glad when at last there came a diversion to her thoughts, in the
shape of a guest who appeared one day so suddenly and unexpectedly at
Schuyler Hill, and of whom I will speak in another chapter.