That same evening Eve Pelly was in the garden with Mrs Glaire--the old
familiar garden where she had spent so many happy hours, while now she
was sad with a sadness that made the tears rise and fill her eyes.
The old place, with its abundant flowers, its roses climbing the old
red-brick wall, the well-shaven lawn, with its quaint rustic vases and
flower-beds, and the seats where she had read and worked since a child.
It was her dear old home, and she was not going to leave it, but all the
same, on this the eve of her marriage, it seemed to her that the end had
come, and that she was about to bid it all farewell.
It had been an anxious day, for many friends had called, and present
after present had been brought, all of which, in spite of herself, she
had received with tears, and gladly escaped afterwards to the solitude
of her own room.
Even the workmen had clubbed together, and, in spite of past hard times,
bought a handsome silver teapot, which came "With the men's dooty to
Miss Eve."
For they recalled her sweet gentle face, patiently watching by or
bringing flowers to many a sick wife or child; and it was said that
every man in the works, with all his belongings, was to be at the church
next morning.
Mrs Glaire was with Eve, but at last she said she would go in, the
latter pleading that she would like to stay a little longer in the soft
glow of the evening sun; and so it happened that at last she was left,
and feeling glad at heart that Richard had been away all day, she sat
down alone to think.
It was so strange she could hardly realise it, and yet this was the last
day, and to-morrow she would be Richard's wife.
The warm glow of the setting sun was around her, but a deadly pallor was
upon her face, and she began to tremble.
"Am I going to be ill?" she asked herself; and then, making an effort,
she tried to shake off the feeling.
"Richard's wife," she mused. "May I have strength to make him love me
dearly, and to be to him the best of wives."
It was a fervent wish, but as it passed her trembling lips, the tears
began to flow, and though she fought against it, the thoughts would come
rushing through her brain of what might have been had some one else
known her sooner, and not looked down upon her as a poor weak, simple
girl.
"Oh, but this is dreadful," she moaned; "disloyal to poor Dick--cruel to
myself. What shall I do!"
She was hastily drying her eyes, when a step on the gravel startled her,
and Jacky Budd appeared, red-nosed as of old, and bearing a small round
basket, and a packet.
"From Master Selwood, Miss Eve. Parson said I was to gi'e 'em to yow,
so I brote 'em down the garden mysen, and my dooty to you, Miss, and may
you be very happy, and I'd take it kindly if yow'd let me drink your
health, and long life to you."
Eve smiled her thanks as she placed a shilling in his hand, sending
Jacky away a happy man, as he calculated that that shilling contained
eight gills of ale, and to him what he called comfort for his sorrows.
As the gardener went away Eve's agitation became excessive, and she
hardly dared to lift the lid of the basket.
But a short time since, and she had mentally reproached him for
forgetting her, as no token whatever had arrived, only a formal note to
her aunt, saying that he would be at the church at ten the next morning,
while all the time his thoughts had been of her, for here was the token.
A glad flush overspread her cheeks, as at last she took the basket and
raised the lid, to find within a large bouquet of costly white exotics,
the stephanotis amongst which sent forth its sweet perfume, mingled with
that of orange blossoms--a gift to a bride.
"A gift to a bride," she whispered, and the flush faded, even as the
sunbeams were paling fast in the trees above her head.
A bitter sigh escaped her lips--a sigh that was almost a moan, and as
she raised the bouquet and kissed it, the tears fell fast, and lay
glistening like rain amidst the petals.
"If he knew; if he knew," she whispered, "it would be cruel; but he does
not know--he never will know, and after to-night this must be as a
dream."
Almost mechanically she took the little square white packet that lay on
the garden seat by her side, and breaking the seal, on which was the
vicar's crest, she found a small square morocco case; and when at last
her trembling fingers had pressed the snap and raised the lid, there
upon pale blue velvet lay a large oval locket, crusted with diamonds and
pearls, a costly gift that glistened in the fading light, and beside it
a scrap of paper, with the words--
"God bless you! May you be very happy."
Eve sat with one hand laid upon her bosom to still its throbbings, and
then her lips were pressed to the locket--longer still to the scrap of
paper, before the case was shut, and she sat gazing up at the first
stars in the pale, soft sky.