The night before my wedding day I could scarcely sleep a wink--that is,
to speak of. I suppose it was partly the excitement; because, of
course, I could not help thinking--and there were so many things to
think of. "Now, Maud," said mamma, when she was bidding me good-night,
"don't you girls stop up talking. You get between the sheets as soon as
you're upstairs, and go to sleep at once." But she might as well have
talked to the moon. Of course, Eveleen came in to have what she called
a "few last words"; from the way she said it there might have been
going to be a funeral instead of a wedding. I had not previously
suspected her of being sentimental; but that night she was positively
depressing. And so horridly hopeful. She hoped that George would make a
good husband, and that we should be happy, and that I should never
regret what I was doing, and that it would all turn out for the best,
and that marriage would suit me, and that I should not go into a rapid
decline, like Aunt Louisa did, and that George would not quarrel with
mamma, and that he would not estrange me from all my relations and
friends, and that whatever happened I should always remember she was
the only sister I had; she kept on hoping that sort of thing till I had
to bundle her off.
To crown all, when at last I was between the sheets, who should come
creeping into the room like a ghost but mamma herself, though it must
have been frightfully late; and her manner was positively sepulchral.
"When you were a small child," she began, "I always used to come and
kiss you before you went to sleep; have you forgotten?" Of course I had
not forgotten. "So I have come again to kiss you, for the last time."
"Dear mother, I'm not dying to-morrow; at least, I hope not."
"That depends on what you mean by dying"--which was a cheerful thing to
say! "I trust, my dear daughter, that events will prove you have chosen
wisely, and that you will have every happiness; my own married life has
not been without its trials. Only, in the midst of your own happiness,
do not forget that you have a mother, and that you are still my child.
God bless you!"
As she stooped over to kiss me I felt her tears fall on my cheeks. That
finished me. After she had gone I had a good cry--the first I had had
for years and years. I was more than half disposed to jump out of bed
and run after her and promise that I would never leave her--never!
never! never!--but--I managed not to. Still I was anything but
comfortable, lying all alone in the dark there. Because I could not
shut my eyes to the fact that mamma had said things to George, and that
George had said things to mamma, and that papa had said things to both
of them; and everybody knows how that sort of thing grows, till a
breach is made which may never be bridged over. Then there was my
dress. Three times I had had to have it altered; till, finally, in
desperation, I had made up my mind to have an entirely new bodice made.
I could not go to the altar screwed up so tight as to be in continual
terror of my seams bursting, or else being suffocated. George would be
furious if anything did happen. The new bodice was something of a fit.
But it had not yet come home, though Mme. Sylvia had promised--pledged
what she called her professional reputation--that it should come before
ten o'clock to-morrow morning. Still, I could not help owning to myself
that I had scarcely any faith in the woman; and suppose it did not come?
My wedding dress!
The horror of such a prospect was too much for me. I believe it
frightened me to sleep, if you could call it sleep. Because then I
dreamt--such dreams! They were really dreadful nightmares. I know that
in one of them George was throwing mamma out of the window and I had on
scarcely a rag, and papa, laughing like a maniac, was cutting my
wedding dress into tiny shreds and Eveleen was shrieking; when, in the
very midst of it, I woke with a start--a frightful start--to find that
someone was gripping my shoulder with a clutch of steel, and that a
voice was saying to me in the pitchy darkness,--
"Maud, wake up!--wake up! There are burglars in the house; they are in
the drawing-room stealing your presents!"
Roused out of sleep by a thunder-clap like that, it was not surprising
if I were disposed to wonder where I was and what had happened.
"Who is it?" I inquired. "And what's the matter?"
"It's Eveleen! And as for what's the matter, they're not my presents,
so it's not of the slightest consequence to me what becomes of them,
though I should not be in the least surprised if they're all of them
gone by now. Do wake up!"
Before I really knew it I was not only wide awake, but I was stealing
along the pitch dark passage in my night-gown, with Eveleen's hand in
mine. Sure enough, as we leaned over the baluster, we could see,
through the open door, that there was a light in the drawing-room,
where all my wedding-presents were laid out for inspection.
"What are you doing in there?" I cried. "Who are you?"
Looking back they seemed rather foolish questions to have asked. It
was, perhaps, because she felt this strongly that, without the
slightest warning, Eveleen burst into the most appalling shrieks and
yells.
"Help! help!--murder!--thieves!--burglars!--help-p!"
I had never suspected her of having such powerful lungs. It was partly
owing to the surprise occasioned by the discovery, and partly to the
thrill which the noise she made sent right through me, that I was
induced to do the most daring--and also the rashest--thing I ever did
do. Without giving Eveleen the least hint of my intention, I flew down
the stairs and dashed into the drawing-room in my night-gown, just as I
was. What would have happened if the burglar had stayed and attacked me
is too terrible for thought. Fortunately, he did nothing of the kind.
Just as I tore through the door the light in the room went out; I heard
a scrambling noise, as if somebody was stumbling against furniture and
knocking over chairs. Then I saw a blind lifted and a figure leaped
through the open window. I believe I should have leaped after him if
Eveleen had not stopped me. I had already lifted the corner of the
blind when she shouted,--
"Maud! What are you going to do?"
"I can see him running across the lawn, and I believe he's taken all my
presents!"
"If he has, whatever good do you suppose you'll be able to do by
jumping through the window after him?"
"There he is! He's going through the gate! He'll escape!"
Eveleen, coming rushing across the room, flung her arms around me and
held me tight.
"Come back!" she cried; which were hardly the correct words to use,
since, as a matter of fact, I had not actually gone.
Then papa and mamma and the servants came hurrying in, and there
was a fine to-do. That burglar had apparently supposed that those
wedding-presents had been laid out for his inspection. Anyhow, he had
gone carefully over them and selected the very best. As Eveleen rather
coarsely--and also ungratefully--put it, the things he had left behind
were hardly worth having. He had taken Aunt Jane's turquoise bracelet,
and Uncle Henry's pearl necklace, and Mrs Mackenzie's diamond brooch,
and, indeed, nearly every scrap of jewellery, and the silver
tea-service, and the dressing-case--George's own present to me--and
five cheques, and all sorts of things; though, of course, in the
excitement of the moment, we could hardly be certain what he had taken;
but I may say at once that it turned out to be worse even than we
feared. When, at last, a policeman did appear upon the scene, he was
anything but sympathetic. From his manner we might have left my
presents lying about on purpose, and the window open too. He was the
most disagreeable policeman I ever did encounter.
Anyone would easily imagine that after such an interruption there was
no more sleep for me that night. But mamma insisted upon my going back
to bed. Extraordinary though it may seem, I believe I was no sooner
between the sheets than I was fast asleep. And that time I had no
dreams. I was visited by no premonitions of what was to happen to me on
what I had meant should be the happiest day of my life. My existence
had been uneventful up to then. Scarcely anything worth speaking of had
occurred, except my meeting George. It appeared that Fate had resolved
to crowd into a few hours the misfortunes which might very well have
been spread over the nineteen years I had been in the world. Everything
went wrong; some evil spirit had been let loose that day to play on me
as many cruel pranks as it possibly could--I feel sure of it. Stealing
my wedding-presents was only the beginning. I had worked and schemed,
planned and contrived, so that everything should go smoothly and be as
nice as it could be. Instead of which anything more tragic could hardly
be conceived.
To begin with, Eveleen, who seemed destined on that occasion to act as
a bird of ill-omen, awoke me, for the second time, out of sleep with a
piece of information which was really almost worse than her first had
been. Indeed, for a moment or two, when I realised all that it meant,
it seemed to me to be an absolutely crushing blow. She waited till she
was sure that I had my eyes wide open; then she let fall her bombshell.
"Maud, I have another pleasant piece of news for you. Bertha has the
measles."
"Eveleen," I exclaimed, starting up in bed, "what do you mean?"
"Exactly what I say. And as Constance slept with her last night she
will probably have them also, so that you will, at any rate, be two
bridesmaids short. Read that."
She handed me a letter which she had been holding in her hand. Seating
herself on the side of my bed, she watched me with an air of calm
resignation while I read it. It was easy enough for her to be calm; it
was different for me. I had arranged for four bridesmaids. Bertha Ellis
was to be one; her cousin, Constance Farrer, was to be another. Bertha
had had for some days what we had thought was a cold; during the night
it had turned into measles--at her time of life, because she was as old
as I was. And Constance had actually slept in the same bed with her.
So, as Mrs Ellis had written to point out, it was altogether out of the
question that either of them should be present at my wedding.
"Now," I demanded, "perhaps you will be so good as to tell me what I am
to do."
"I suppose it would be too late to get anyone to take their places?"
"At the eleventh hour--practically at the church door? And who is to
get into their dresses? They are both of them so ridiculously small."
"You would have them like that in order to make you look tall. It seems
as if it were a judgment."
"How can you say such awful things? Why don't you suggest something?"
"The only thing I am able to suggest is that you should do without them
and put up with Ellen and me.
"You know very well that I only asked Ellen Mackenzie because I knew
that her mother was going to give me a diamond brooch--and now it's
stolen. It's not alone that she's hideous, but she won't harmonise with
me in the very least; and, anyhow, having only two bridesmaids will
spoil everything."
"Then there's nothing for you to do except postpone the wedding, unless
you know of some establishment where they hire out bridesmaids of all
shapes and sizes on the shortest notice."
"If it were your wedding day I wouldn't talk to you so heartlessly. How
can you be so unkind?"
"Pray, Maud, don't start crying. Red eyes and a red nose won't improve
either your appearance or anything else. You are perfectly aware how
your nose does go red on the slightest provocation."
Talk about the affection of an only sister! Mamma came in just as I
felt like shaking Eveleen.
"Oh, mamma," I burst out, "Bertha Ellis has the measles, and Constance
Farrer is almost sure to have them, so I shall be two bridesmaids
short, and I had set my heart on having four."
Mamma was, if anything, less demonstrative in the way of sympathy even
than Eveleen.
"Be so good, Maud, as not to excite yourself unnecessarily. You will
have need of all your self-control before the day is over. Anything
more unreasonable than your father's conduct I cannot imagine. He
insists on going to the City."
At that both Eveleen and I jumped up.
"But, mamma, he's to give me away at half-past twelve!"
"That makes not the smallest difference to your father. It seems that
there's some absurd foreign news which he says will turn that
ridiculous City upside down, and he simply insists on going."