Charley departed, and for several days, Ida disregarded his injunction
of cheerfulness. She liked the warm-hearted, reliable Arthur; but she
was unjust in her vexation at his happiness, when she pictured the
lonely brother, who had sacrificed his, to preserve it unabated. Her
conscience reproached her for a display of this impatience, while they
were watching the receding form of their visitor. Arthur linked her arm
in his, saying playfully, "Come, cousin Ida, tell us what made you and
my rattling brother so sober this morning. You parted as if you did not
expect to meet again in this world. Is there any hope of my claiming
nearer kinship?"
With a quick, fretful gesture she broke from him; and although she
recovered herself immediately, and answered pleasantly, he was amazed
and wounded, and never repeated the familiarity. A letter from Mr. Lacy
came opportunely to brighten the current of thought. She wished Charley
could read it; but as this was not to be, she embodied its sentiments
in her reply to a communication she had received from him. She was in
the habit of moralising speculatively; and he had no clue to betray
from what quarter this practical strain had emanated.
John arrived a week before the marriage, with intelligence that set
the house in a turmoil; Charley had started to Missouri that morning.
He "was the bearer of his excuses and the bridal gift." Carry wept;
and Arthur was indignant; Dr. Carleton proposed a postponement, which
was unanimously voted for by the servants. "Twouldn't be no wedding
wuth talking about, 'thout Mars' Charles was thar!" The motion was
strenuously opposed by a minority of three--John, Ida and Arthur; John
asserting, in his business way, that the ceremony could be performed
as well without the absentee; and that his example of punctuality in
keeping engagements should be improved. The two others deprecated a
change, without distinctly stating their reasons. They carried the
day. Poplar-grove was visible for miles around, on the moonless night
of the bridal. Lights blazed in every window; starry festoons depended
from the trees; and in the garden, the glow-worm fairies might have
been celebrating the royal birth-night. In doors, the scene was one
of bewildering beauty. Fairies of mortal mould flitted through the
summer bowers, at whose decoration, Flora must have presided in person.
Carry was too modest to covet display; but Dr. Carleton was wealthy
and liberal; and Ida and Mrs. Dana, who were both fond of splendor and
excitement, had his hearty concurrence in their designs. The former
planned everything. It was a new business to her; but she struck out
boldly, copying a gorgeous conception of her fertile brain, guided
solely by her eye and judgment. Her subordinates marvelled at first;
but had too much faith in her to rebel; and as the idea was developed,
their industry and delight surpassed her expectations. When completed,
the effect was so novel and pleasing, they were ready to fall down
and worship her; and more cultivated taste did not derogate from
their eulogistic approbation. Dr. Carleton thanked her with moistened
eyes; Arthur laughingly wondered--"what talent next? her versatile
genius kept him in a state of perpetual wonderment;" but Carry's
silent kiss was dearer praise than all. As first bridesmaid, and an
inmate of the mansion, Ida was virtually mistress of the ceremonies;
Mrs. Dana confining her attention to the arrangement of the banquet,
dressing-rooms and chambers. Carry had invited all of her schoolmates
who were within reach; among those who came, were Anna Talbot, Emma
Glenn, Ellen Morris, who was staying at Mr. Truman's, and our old
friend Celestia;--"cousin Lucindy" being again conveniently remembered.
The three first named, were bridesmaids. Ida walked with Mr. Euston;
and as the train formed, she thought of the two who would have taken
precedence of him; of the chilly sleep of the pulseless heart, and the
desolation of the living one; while the irrevocable words were said,
she heard, like the echo of a knell--"caring for nothing, striving
for nothing--now that my guiding star has set;" and the sigh, which
contended with her smile of salutation to the bride, was "poor Charley!"
Ellen Morris, too, may have had her reminiscences; this event could not
but revive the recollection of her sister's bridal, not a year before;
but the sparkling hazel orbs were unshadowed as then; her manner as
charmingly coquettish. Celestia had not forgotten Mr. Euston; and
seized an early opportunity to renew their flirtation. The gentleman
was not so willing; he was not exactly in love with his partner; but
was not insensible to her attractions, and that in his position he
was envied by most of the single men present--cordially hated by one.
Ida knew not that he was taxing every energy to achieve fascination.
She felt the nervousness of a youthful hostess that things should "go
off" well; the company be pleased with their reception and themselves;
conscious, that although the praise or censure might not be put upon
her, yet in reality the result depended upon her exertions. Solicitude
yielded to triumphant satisfaction, as the electric sympathy spread,
leaping from tongue to tongue; and evolving, in dazzling coruscations,
from kindling eyes. She did not seek her reward then, but she had it.
Few were so blind and ungrateful, as not to recognise her hand in
the pleasures offered to them. The girls, the most fastidious of the
various classes for whose whims a party-giver has to cater, forgave
her magnet influence upon the choicest beaux, as they were themselves
well-supplied notwithstanding; the old people were charmed with her
respectful affability; and of her immediate attendants, there was not
one who was not convinced that he contributed most to her amusement.
Ill-nature is indigenous to all soils, and spite creates its own
food; and she did not escape wholly unscathed. She overheard the
epithets, "flirt," and "dashing," in the same breath with her name;
but she laughed at the silly shot. If she flirted, no one was offended
or injured; if she dashed, she did it with a grace her maligners
tried vainly to copy. As she left the supper-room, a glance at the
hall-mirror showed that her head-dress was disordered; and she repaired
to the dressing-room to rectify it. She paused before the glass
there, in unfeigned wonder at the reflected figure. It was the first
time a spark of personal vanity had ever inflamed her mind. She knew
that she was admired; she believed, because she amused people by her
sprightly repartee; compliments upon her appearance were forgotten
as soon as heard, leaving, as their only trace, contempt for their
author. To-night, the thoughtful eyes were alive with light; the
cheeks, usually colorless, as rosy as Carry's; and the wreathing
smile imparted a wondrous beauty to the proud lips. A softer, sweeter
happiness succeeded the girlish exultation--pardonable since it was
short-lived--she turned from the mirror, with indifference, as she
murmured--
"Young, loving and beloved!
These are brief words, but--"
An exclamation interrupted the quotation. She snatched up a letter
from the table. "It must have come this afternoon, and they forgot
to give it me. How unkind!" This was too public a place, there was
constant passing in and out; but she could not be debarred its perusal
until the guests' departure. A closet opened beyond the chamber; she
carried a lamp in thither, and bolted the door. He wrote kindly, but
more constrainedly than formerly; and the sense of some phrases was
confused, as if he had commenced them, meaning to say one thing, and
changed his mind ere the conclusion. His sister had been very ill, he
said, but was now out of danger; and his statement of this simple fact
appeared embarrassed. She read two pages in perplexity whether to chide
his ambiguity, or her unsettled thoughts; "And now, my dear friend," so
ran the third, "I have to solicit indulgence for my egotism, while I
speak of an event of incomparable importance--and than which, nothing
was more remote from my thoughts, four months ago. Annie has another
nurse besides myself this summer; an early playmate of ours, a gentle
girl, who, I think, must resemble your friend Carry, in character and
person. She visited Annie early in April; and an angel of healing she
has proved to our beloved sufferer. It is an affecting sight--one
so young and fair, deserting the society she would adorn, for the
wearisome offices of a sick-room. I have said that she is gentle, and
in disposition and deportment essentially feminine;--add to these, the
intelligence and accomplishments of a strong and thoroughly-trained
mind; and you will not be surprised that she has gained our
hearts;--will not accuse me of precipitancy, when you hear that I have
sought and obtained her promise to return to us, united by a dearer tie
than the bonds of friendship. I do not merit this gift at the hands of
Providence; for I have rebelled, in times past, at the strokes I knew
were just, but could not acknowledge were merciful. There is nothing
earthly which can compare with the love of a true-hearted woman.--If I
ever needed an incentive to industry I have it in this. Months--years,
perhaps--must elapse before our union. It may be said, I have not acted
prudently in forming an engagement, whose consummation is so distant;
but I have obeyed the voice of my heart and conscience."
Aye! crumple the sheet in your grasp, and sink to the earth--a crushed
thing! struck down from the zenith of your pride and bliss--crushed
and mangled--but living and _feeling!_ Grief does not always stun--it
seldom kills--you must live, although each lacerated heart-string is
crying out for death! Say not that it came without warning! Was there
no voice in your early bereavement--in the stern lessons of your
girlhood--in the frustration of an hundred cherished purposes--in
Lynn's suicidal madness--in Ellen's remorse--in Charley's withered
heart? Why were you made to feel, see, know these, if not to teach
you, that they who lean upon mortal's love trust to the weakest of
rotten reeds--they "who sow the wind, must reap the whirl wind"--black,
bitter, scorching!