A SECOND BRIDAL.
After the night of which we have written, the tie of affection
between Mrs. Kennedy and the blind girl was stronger than before,
and when the former said to her husband, "Maude must have an outfit
worthy of a rich man's stepdaughter," he knew by the tone of her
voice that remonstrance was useless, and answered meekly, "I will do
what is right, but don't be too extravagant, for Nellie's clothes
almost ruined me, and I had to pay for that piano yesterday. Will
fifty dollars do?"
"Fifty dollars!" repeated the lady. "Are you crazy?" Then, touched
perhaps by the submissive expression of his face, she added, "As
Maude is blind, she will not need as much as if she were going at
once into society. I'll try and make two hundred dollars answer,
though that will purchase but a meager trousseau."
Mrs. Kennedy's pronounciation of French was not always correct, and
John, who chanced to be within hearing, caught eagerly at the last
word, exclaiming, "Ki! dem trouses must cost a heap sight mor'n
mine! What dis nigger spec' 'em can be?" and he glanced ruefully at
his own glazed pants of corduroy, which had done him service for two
or three years.
Maude was a great favorite with John, and when he heard that she was
going away forever he went up to the woodshed chamber where no one
could see him, and seating himself upon a pile of old shingles,
which had been put there for kindling, he cried like a child.
"It'll be mighty lonesome, knowin' she's gone for good," he said,
"for, though she'll come back agin, she'll be married, and when a
gal is married, that's the last on 'em. I wish I could give her
somethin', to show her my feelin's."
He examined his hands; they were hard, rough, and black. He drew
from his pocket a bit of looking-glass and examined his face--that
was blacker yet; and shaking his head, he whispered: "It might do
for a mulatto gal, but not for her." Then, as a new idea crossed his
mind, he brightened up, exclaiming, "My heart is white, and if I
have a tip-top case, mebby she won't 'spise a poor old nigger's
picter!"
In short, John contemplated having his daguerreotype taken as a
bridal present for Maude. Accordingly, that very afternoon he
arrayed himself in his best, and, entering the yellow car of a
traveling artist who had recently come to the village, he was soon
in possession of a splendid case and a picture which he, pronounced
"oncommon good-lookin' for him." This he laid carefully away until
the wedding-day, which was fixed for the 15th of April. When Mr. De
Vere heard of John's generosity to Maude in giving her the golden
eagles, he promptly paid them back, adding five more as interest,
and at the same time asking him if he would not like to accompany
them to Europe.
"You can be of great assistance to us," he said, "and I will gladly
take you."
This was a strong temptation, and for a moment the negro hesitated,
but when his eye fell upon his master, who was just then entering
the gate, his decision was taken, and he answered, "No, I'm bleeged
to you. I'd rather stay and see the fun."
"What fun?" asked Mr. De Vere; and John replied, "The fun of seein'
him cotch it;" and he pointed to the doctor coming slowly up the
walk, his hands behind him and his head bent forward in a musing
attitude.
Dr. Kennedy was at that moment in an unenviable frame of mind, for
he was trying to decide whether he could part for a year or more
with his crippled boy, who grew each day more dear to him. "It will
do him good, I know," he said, "and I might, perhaps, consent, if I
could spare the money; but I can't, for I haven't got it. That woman
keeps me penniless, and will wheedle me out of two hundred dollars
more. Oh, Mat--"
He did not finish the sentence, for by this time he had reached the
hall, where he met Mr. De Vere, who asked if Louis was to go.
"He can't," answered the doctor. "I have not the means. Mrs. Kennedy
says Maude's wardrobe will cost two hundred dollars."
"Excuse me, sir," interrupted Mr. De Vere. "I shall attend to
Maude's wants myself, and if you are not able to bear Louis'
expenses, I will willingly do it for the sake of having him with his
sister. They ought not to be separated, and who knows but Louis'
deformity may be in a measure relieved?"
This last decided the matter. Louis should go, even though his
father mortgaged his farm to pay the bill, and during the few weeks
which elapsed before the 15th the house presented an air of bustle
and confusion equal to that which preceded Nellie's bridal. Mr. De
Vere remained firm in his intention to defray all Maude's expenses,
and he delegated to Mrs. Kennedy the privilege of purchasing
whatever she thought was needful. Her selections were usually in
good taste, and in listening to her enthusiastic praises Maude
enjoyed her new dresses almost as much as if she had really seen
them. A handsome plain silk of blue and brown was decided upon for a
traveling dress, and very sweetly the blind girl looked when,
arrayed in her simple attire, she stood before the man of God whose
words were to make her a happy bride. She could not see the sunlight
of spring streaming into the room, neither could she see the
sunlight of love shining over the face of James De Vere, nor yet the
earnest gaze of those who thought her so beautiful in her
helplessness, but she could feel it all, and the long eyelashes
resting on her cheek were wet with tears when a warm kiss was
pressed upon her lips and a voice murmured in her ear, "My wife--my
darling Maude."
There were bitter tears shed at that parting; Maude Glendower
weeping passionately over the child of Harry Remington, and Dr.
Kennedy hugging to his bosom the little hunchback boy, Matty's boy
and his. They might never meet again, and the father's heart clung
fondly to his only son. He could not even summon to his aid a maxim
with which to season his farewell, and bidding a kind good-by to
Maude, he sought the privacy of his chamber, where he could weep
alone in his desolation.
Hannah and John grieved to part with the travelers, but the latter
was somewhat consoled by the gracious manner with which Maude had
accepted his gift.
"I cannot see it," she said, "but when I open the casing I shall
know your kind, honest face is there, and it will bring me many
pleasant memories of you."
"Heaven bless you, Miss Maude," answered John, struggling hard to
keep back the tears he deemed it unmanly to shed. "Heaven bless you,
but if you keep talking so book-like and good, I'll bust out
a-cryin', I know, for I'm nothin' but an old fool anyhow," and
wringing her hand, he hurried off into the woodshed chamber, where
he could give free vent to his grief.
Through the harbor, down the bay, and out upon the sea, a noble
vessel rides; and as the evening wind comes dancing o'er the wave it
sweeps across the deck, kissing the cheek of a brown-eyed boy and
lifting the curls from the brow of one whose face, upturned to the
tall man at her side, seems almost angelic, so calm, so peaceful, is
its expression of perfect bliss. Many have gazed curiously upon that
group, and the voices were very, low which said, "The little boy is
deformed," while there was a world of sadness in the whisper, which
told to the wondering passengers that "the beautiful bride was
blind."
They knew it by the constant drooping of her eyelids, by the
graceful motion of her hand as it groped in the air, and more than
all by the untiring watchfulness of the husband and brother who
constantly hovered near. It seemed terrible that so fair a creature
should be blind; and like the throb of one great heart did the
sympathy of that vessel's crew go out toward the gentle Maude, who
in her newborn happiness forgot almost the darkness of the world
without, or if she thought of it, looked forward to a time when hope
said that she should see again. So, leaving her upon the sea,
speeding away to sunny France, we glance backward for a moment to
the lonely house where Maude Glendower mourns for Harry's child, and
where the father thinks often of his boy, listening in vain for the
sound which once was hateful to his ear, the sound of Louis'
crutches.
Neither does John forget the absent ones, but in the garden, in the
barn, in the fields, and the woodshed chamber, he prays in his
mongrel dialect that He who holds the wind in the hollow of His hand
will give to the treacherous deep charge concerning the precious
freight it bears. He does not say it in those words, but his
untutored language, coming from a pure heart, is heard by the Most
High. And so the breeze blows gently o'er the bark thus followed by
black John's prayers--the skies look brightly down upon it--the blue
waves ripple at its side, until at last it sails into its destined
port; and when the apple-blossoms are dropping from the trees, and
old Hannah lays upon the grass to bleach the fanciful white
bed-spread which her own hands have knit for Maude, there comes a letter
to the lonely household, telling them that the feet of those they
love have reached the shores of the Old World.