All unconscious of the deception that had been practiced on him,
Everard Dawn drove briskly back to his home, making no effort to
restore Cinthia, and, in fact, rather hoping that her unconsciousness
would last until he could place her in Mrs. Flint’s care. In common
with most men, he had a holy horror of sensational scenes, and shrunk
from hearing his daughter’s reproaches when she should revive and find
herself so cruelly sundered from her lover.
So he made haste to reach home, and his thoughts on the way were most
sad and bitter, for in this man’s past was a tragedy of sorrow that
might have driven a weaker man to cut loose the bonds of unbearable
life with his own hands and hurl himself recklessly into the great
unknown future beyond.
With his return to his sister’s house, everything had rushed back upon
him like the swell of some great river, and seared wounds had been
opened afresh, bleeding in secret beneath his outward calmness. However
handsome and prosperous he appeared to the outward eye, no man could
have envied Everard Dawn, having looked once into his tortured heart
and seen its secrets laid bare.
Mrs. Flint was watching and listening for him, and as soon as the
sleigh stopped, she seized a lantern, and bundling herself in a shawl,
rushed out to the gate.
Springing out and fastening the lines to a post, he said, triumphantly:
“I overtook them, Rebecca, and Cinthia fainted with fear. I brought her
back in that condition, thus escaping a scene in the sleigh. I will
carry her in, and you can revive her at your leisure, while I return
the sleigh to the stable.”
He lifted out the form, carefully shrouded in a large, warm robe, and,
almost staggering under the burden, followed the lead of his sister
into the sitting-room, depositing it on the long sofa, panting:
“Cinthia looked so slender, I did not suppose she was so heavy. My arms
fairly ache. Now do you revive her, Rebecca, and soothe the poor girl
as tenderly as you can until I return presently.”
“Well, I declare, I never saw such an unfeeling father in my life!
There he rushes off again, without so much as glancing at her face
to see if she is dead or alive. He doesn’t seem to bear one bit of
love for the poor, neglected girl, and I wish in my heart she had got
away with Arthur Varian and married him, that I do!” ejaculated the
old lady, as she heard her brother drive away, her usually cold heart
melting with sympathy for the hapless girl over whom she bent, drawing
aside the folds of the heavy robe from her face, adding, sharply: “And
a pretty how-d’ye-do there’ll be when she revives and finds herself
parted from her lover. Not that I believe he can _keep_ them apart, for
there’s an old saying that true love always finds a way, and----Oh, my
goodness gracious, _what in the world_----!”
With that dismayed exclamation, the Widow Flint dropped the corner of
the robe, and recoiled as if she had encountered a nest of serpents.
It was not quite so bad as that, but she certainly had good reason for
her surprise and dismay.
For instead of her beautiful niece, slender, golden-haired Cinthia,
there lay a large woman of middle age, shabbily attired, with a pinched
face, whose cadaverous hue was outlined by long, straggling locks of
jet-black hair.
“Dead!” cried Mrs. Flint, in horror; and the shock to her nerves was
so great that she rushed from the room and banged open the front door,
calling wildly down the road: “Everard! Everard! Come back!”
But the homeless wind and vagrant snow blew mockingly in her face, and
no other sound came back, so she knew it was all in vain to stand there
shouting for one who could not hear.
She went in and shut the door, groaning loudly:
“What a night--what a night--and what a mistake Everard has made, or is
he only playing a foolish joke on me? Who is the woman, anyway? I never
saw her face in these parts before.”
And presently conquering her terror, she stole back into the room for a
second look.
The strange intruder lay there speechless, motionless, as if life had
indeed fled from her body. Mrs. Flint ventured to touch her hand, and
it felt like ice.
“She is frozen to death!” she muttered, pityingly. “Oh, how I wish
Everard would return and explain this mysterious thing. I had better
feel her heart. Why, it seems to beat faintly, poor creature! I wish I
knew just what to do to bring her to life, for this is just awful! _Oh,
what a night!_”
But, leaving poor Mrs. Flint to her dazed condition and perplexity, we
must follow the eloping couple as their train rushed on through the
night and darkness to Washington.
They had spent several happy hours together on the train, heedless of
the other passengers, who mostly slept or talked together, apparently
taking slight notice of the young pair who sat apart conversing with
shy dignity and permitting themselves no slightest caresses, such as
might have drawn ready ridicule upon their love.
Almost before they realized it, the day dawned, and the train rushed
into the city on time at eight o’clock.
Arthur took a carriage, and he and his bride to be were driven to a
hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue, where he always stopped when visiting the
city.
Calling the proprietor aside, he said, in his most genial fashion:
“As I have known you a long time, sir, I wish to say that I desire to
be married to the young lady who accompanies me before I register our
names. Can you send out for the nearest minister?”
The host congratulated him, and answered laughingly:
“Cupid never was in such luck before, for the Reverend Doctor Sprague
is in the office at this moment, having called in to inquire about a
subscription for his new church. You will both please step into the
parlor, and I will bring him there in a jiffy!”
Cinthia was all in a tremor now.
“Must I not even bathe my face and brush my hair first?” she queried,
clinging to him.
“No, love, not till the little ceremony is over. I can not rest till
I know you are mine and out of your father’s power,” Arthur cried,
ardently. “And, see, there is the minister! Be brave, love; it will all
be over in a moment.”
“Doctor Sprague--Mr. Varian and his intended bride. I am to be the
best man, and give the bride away,” said the host, genially; and the
minister bowed, and opened his book, saying:
“I should like two witnesses, please. Perhaps that lady looking out of
the window will oblige us.”