SURPRISES ALL AROUND.
Very dimly, indeed, burned the lamps among the floral decorations
as the family at Wheatlands gathered in the parlor for the wedding
ceremony, Jessie and her mother in full evening dress, though Leola had
sent word down that she would be married simply in her traveling dress.
Outside the gates waited the brand new carriage, with prancing white
horses, that had brought Giles Bennett and the Methodist preacher who
was to perform the ceremony, and in the parlor the bridegroom waited,
spick and span in his new black suit, for his bonny bride. Jessie
Stirling, at the piano, had already begun the first low notes of the
wedding march, and to that sound came Leola slowly down the stairs on
the arm of Miss Tuttle, having peremptorily declined her guardian’s
escort.
Mrs. Stirling thought it rather ridiculous, as they came in sight,
that that silly old maid, Miss Tuttle, had chosen to wear a hat and
veil like the bride at the ceremony, but she did not give the poor,
drab-faced creature a second look, she was so intent on watching the
proceedings.
Wizard Hermann met the pair at the door, and taking the golden-haired
girl by the arm, led her to the rotund bridegroom waiting nervously for
his happiness.
The minister cleared his throat ready to proceed, but the bride stood
still for a moment, facing Giles Bennett, and her low voice said,
distinctly:
“The mortgage on Wheatlands--the prize for which I am sold, sir--have
you brought it as agreed upon?”
He produced a folded paper, and she beckoned to her guardian.
“Examine this paper. Is it bona fide?”
He answered, huskily:
“Yes.”
She looked at Giles Bennett.
“You are willing that I destroy this paper, on condition that I marry
you immediately afterward?”
“I agree to your conditions,” he said, and directly the fragments of
the mortgage fluttered, like a miniature snowstorm, from the bride’s
white-gloved hands to the floor.
Then she took his arm, and they moved across to the waiting minister,
who began to pray.
In the excitement no one noticed a rapping on the open hall door, nor
that poor Miss Tuttle, instead of attending the bride as maid of honor,
had sunk into a low seat near the door with her handkerchief hiding her
veiled face.
The music played on softly, like a sigh, the dim lights flickered
forlornly among the fragrant flowers, and the short marriage ceremony
of the Methodist Church in less than ten minutes made Leola Mead the
bride of Giles Bennett, who had bought her for her beauty like a slave
in the Circassian market.
And just as he pronounced the pair man and wife the man who had been
knocking unheard at the hall door strode impatiently to the parlor and
looked within at the unexpected sight of a wedding party.
He was a middle-aged man of distinguished appearance, with dark eyes,
grizzled auburn hair and a face bronzed as from travel. No one saw him
as he waited at the door, while the witnesses crowded forward with
eager congratulations to the smirking bridegroom and the veiled bride.
Last of all came the one who had been sitting yonder sobbing in her
little lace handkerchief, and taking first the hand of Giles Bennett,
she exclaimed, earnestly:
“I congratulate you, sir, on winning this rare prize. She will make you
very happy, I know.”
Then, with a soft laugh that startled everyone, she threw her arms
about the bride, half-sobbing:
“Dear, dear governess, I hate to give you up, even to our kind
neighbor, Mr. Bennett, for you have loved him so well, I know it is for
your best happiness to leave me!”
With a dexterous movement of her hand she flung off her veil, hat and
wig in one gesture, and stood revealed, beautiful, golden-haired Leola,
masquerading in Miss Tuttle’s worn and threadbare black silk gown, a
skimpy thing, too short and too tight, and likely to burst with the
peal of laughter that shrilled over her rosy lips at their amazed looks.
They all began talking wildly at once, and staring in wonder at the
veiled bride, who suddenly followed Leola’s example, and threw off hat,
veil and golden wig together, showing Miss Tuttle’s pretty brown waves
of hair, and her pale, rather frightened face that turned piteously to
her new made husband as she faltered, weakly:
“I planned this deception to save my dear Leola, because she vowed that
rather than live with you, after she had paid her guardian’s debt, she
would kill herself this very night. I couldn’t let her do that, the
poor girl, who hasn’t a friend on earth but me, and whom I love as if
she were my own child, so, to save her, I carried out this trick, and
I am your wife, sir, whether you own me or not. But though I am not as
young and pretty as Leola, I will be a better companion for you, Giles,
than she would ever be, for she fears and hates you, while I have
always respected you highly ever since I knew you, and will try to make
you a good wife if you will overlook the little ruse by which I won
you.”
They were all so dazed that no one had tried to interrupt her, but now
Giles Bennett, turning furiously on Hermann, cried:
“You hound, you let me be tricked into this fraud, but it shall avail
you nothing! I repudiate this marriage and the whole transaction. The
destruction of that paper shall not prevent me from getting back my
money from you. The law will protect me in my rights.”
“I protest I had no hand in this deception. I meant honestly by you,
and to prove my word I will have nothing more to do with those women,
who have united in this effort to make you a laughing stock, and to get
me into trouble. They shall both leave my roof to-night and forever,
Giles, but I beg you will be patient with me and grant me a little
more time before you bring suit to recover your money,” began Hermann,
abjectly, when a ringing voice cried, “Hold!” and the unobserved
stranger at the door strode, uninvited, into the room, adding:
“Ah, Henry Hermann, you know me. I have come at last for my daughter,
Leola, and it seems I have unearthed some villainy on your part. Will
some one tell me the meaning of all this excitement?”
Leola flew to him with a cry of joy.
“My father, oh, my father! You have come at last!”
The bronzed stranger clasped her to his heart and kissed her beautiful
lips again and again, exclaiming:
“Sweet image of your lovely mother, now an angel in heaven, we shall
never be parted again! But now tell me the meaning of this strange
scene.”
Clinging fondly to his arm the girl answered, spiritedly:
“That old Falstaff there held a mortgage on my guardian’s estate for
fifteen thousand dollars, and offered to cancel it if I would become
his wife. So I was persecuted into giving him my promise, and to save
me from despair and suicide my dear governess planned to deceive them
and put herself in my place.”
“But it won’t do any good,” blustered the angry Bennett, “I won’t take
the old girl on any terms, and I’ll have my money out of Hermann all
right, and that soon!”
He recoiled in surprise at the stranger’s contemptuous laugh.
“Your mortgage is not worth the paper it was written on, for I hold
a prior one that Hermann executed to me over thirty years ago, for
thirty thousand dollars, as much as the full value of his estate. This
money he had from me before my Leola was born, because I admired his
scientific attainment and wished to make him independent, so that he
could prosecute his experiments in chemistry. At my dear wife’s death
I went abroad with an exploring party to drown my grief. As Hermann’s
mother was a kinswoman of mine, I left Leola with him, giving him ten
thousand dollars for taking care of her, but it seems that he has
betrayed his trust, and but for this noble governess here my poor girl
would have been betrayed into a wretched marriage. I have no more use
for so unworthy a guardian, but I shall not take revenge by foreclosing
my mortgage on his home. I shall leave him in peaceable possession the
term of his life; then Wheatlands will revert to my daughter, Leola.
For the rest, as soon as Leola can pack up to leave I shall take my
dear girl away with me to New York, and if Mr. Bennett repudiates his
pretty bride, she may accompany us. I am rich, and for her love and
care of Leola she shall be well repaid.”
The bride and groom looked at each other, she pitifully humble and
entreating, he angry and resentful, yet on a sudden inclined to make
the best of what seemed to him a bad bargain, so that he muttered,
ungraciously: “You may come home with me, Amanda.”