"Married, this morning, at St. Paul's church, by the Rev. Dr. ----,
assisted by the Rector, Guy Thornton, Esq., of Cuylerville, to Miss
Julia Hamilton, of this city."
Such was the notice which appeared in a daily Boston paper one lovely
morning in September five years after the last entry in Miss Thornton's
journal. Guy had reached the point at last, when he could put Daisy from
his heart and take another in her place. He had never seen her, or heard
directly from her since the night she brought him the marriage
settlement and tore it in pieces, thinking thus to give him the money
beyond a doubt. That this did not change the matter one whit he knew,
for she could not give him the ten thousand settled upon her until she
was of age. She _was_ of age now, and had been for a year or more, and
to say the truth he had expected to hear from her when she was
twenty-one. To himself he had reasoned on this wise: "Her father told
her that the tearing up that paper made no difference, that she was
powerless of herself to act until she was of age, so she will wait
quietly till then before making another effort." And Guy thought how he
would not take a penny from her, but would insist upon her keeping it.
Still he should respect her all the more for her sense of justice and
generosity, he thought, and when her twenty-first birthday came and
passed, and week after week went by, and brought no sign from Daisy,
there was a pang in his heart and a look of disappointment on his face
which did not pass away until October hung her gorgeous colors upon the
hills of Cuylerville, and Julia Hamilton came to the Brown Cottage to
spend a few weeks with his sister.
From an independent, self-reliant, energetic girl of twenty-two, Julia
had ripened into a noble and dignified woman of twenty-seven, with a
repose of manner which seemed to rest and quiet one, and which told
insensibly on Guy, until at last he found himself dreading to have her
go, and wishing to keep her with him always. The visit was lengthened
into a month; and when in November he went with her to Boston, he had
asked her to take Daisy's place, and be his second wife. Very freely
they talked of the little golden-haired girl, and Julia told him what
she had heard through a mutual acquaintance who had been on the same
vessel with the McDonalds when they returned from South America. Cousin
Tom was with them, a rich man then, and a richer now, for his gold mine
and his railroad had made him almost a millionaire, and it was currently
reported and believed that Mr. McDonald meant him to marry his daughter.
They were abroad now, the McDonalds and Tom, and Daisy, it was said, was
even more beautiful than in her early girlhood, and that to her natural
loveliness was added great cultivation and refinement of manner. She had
had the best of teachers while in South America, and was now continuing
her studies abroad with a view to further improvement. All this Julia
Hamilton told Guy, and then bade him think again before deciding to join
his life with hers.
And Guy did think again, and his thoughts went across the sea after the
beautiful Daisy, and he tried to picture to himself what she must be now
that education and culture had set their seal upon her. But always in
the picture there was a dark background, where cousin Tom stood sentinel
with his bags of gold, and so, with a half unconscious sigh for what
"might have been," Guy dug still deeper the grave where, years before,
he had buried his love for Daisy, and to make the burial sure this time,
so that there should be no future resurrection, he put over the grave a
head-stone, on which was written a new hope and a new love, both of
which centered in Julia Hamilton.
And so they were engaged, and after that there was no wavering on his
part,--no looking back to a past, which seemed like a happy dream, from
which there had been a horrible awaking.
He loved Julia at first quietly and sensibly, and loved her more and
more as the winter and spring went by, and brought the day when he stood
again at the altar, and for the second time took upon him the marriage
vow. It was a very quiet wedding, with only a few friends present, and
Miss Frances was the bridesmaid, in a gown of silver gray; but Julia's
face was bright with the certainty of a happiness long desired; and if
in Guy's heart there lingered the odor of other bridal flowers, withered
now and dead, and the memory of other marriage bells than those which
sent their music on the air that September morning, and if a pair of
sunny blue eyes seemed looking into his, he made no sign, and his face
wore an expression of perfect content as he took his second bride for
better or worse, just as he once had taken little Daisy. In Daisy's case
it had proved all for the worse, but now there was a suitableness in the
union which boded future happiness, and many a hearty wish for good was
sent after the newly-married pair, whose destination was New York.
It was nearly dark when they reached the hotel, and quite dark before
dinner was over. Then Julia suddenly remembered that an old friend of
hers was boarding in the house, and suggested going to her room.
"I'd send my card," she said, blushingly, "only she would not know me by
the new name, so if you do not mind my leaving you a moment, I'll go and
find her myself."
Guy did not mind, and Julia went out and left him alone. Scarcely was
she gone when he called to mind a letter which had been forwarded to him
from Cuylerville, and which he had found awaiting him on his return
from, the church that morning. Not thinking it of much consequence, he
had thrust it in his pocket and in the excitement forgotten it till now.
He had dressed for dinner and worn his wedding-coat, and he took the
letter out and looked at it a moment, and wondered whom it was from, as
people often wait and wonder, when breaking the seal would settle the
matter so soon. It was post-marked in New York, and, felt heavy in his
hand, and he opened it at last, and found that the outer envelope
inclosed another one, on which his name and address were written in a
handwriting once so familiar to him, and the sight of which made him
start and breathe heavily for a moment as if the air had suddenly grown
thick and burdensome.
It was Daisy's handwriting, which he had never thought to see again; for
after his engagement with Julia he had burned every vestige of a
correspondence it was sorrow now to remember. One by one, and with a
steady hand, he had dropped Daisy's letters into the fire and watched
them turning into ashes, and thought how like his love for her they were
when nothing remained of them but the thin gray tissue his breath could
blow away. The four scraps of the marriage settlement which Daisy had
brought him on that night of storm he kept, because they seemed to
embody something good and noble in the girl; but the letters she had
written him were gone past recall, and he had thought himself cut loose
from her forever,--when, lo! there had come to him an awakening to the
bitterness of the past in a letter from the once-loved wife, whose
delicate handwriting made him grow faint and sick for a moment, as he
held the letter in his hand and read:
"_Guy Thornton, Esq._,
"Brown Cottage,
"Politeness of Mr. Wilkes. Cuylerville, Mass."
Why had she written, and what had she to say to him? he wondered, and
for a moment he felt tempted to tear the letter up and never know what
it contained.
Better, perhaps, had he done so,--better for him, and better for the
fond new wife whose happiness was so perfect, and whose trust in his
love was so strong.
But he did not tear it up. He opened it, and another chapter will tell
us what he read.