Mr. Abbot Desires an Immediate Marriage.
Whether it was owing to the excitement of the previous evening, or to a
feeling of relief from care and anxiety upon Virgie's account which made
Mr. Abbot feel that at last he might safely lay down his burdens, it would
be impossible to say, but he was alarmingly ill the morning after the
betrothal, and unable to rise from his bed.
His strength seemed to have left him, and he lay weak as a child, panting
with every breath, a deadly faintness and sinking sensation frequently
seizing him and making him feel as if the world was rapidly slipping from
his grasp.
Virgie was in an agony of fear.
She had never seen her father so ill before, and it seemed to her that he
must die if he did not soon have relief.
"What shall I do?" she asked, in a helpless, appealing way, of Sir
William.
He had been summoned as soon as Mr. Abbot's condition had been discovered,
and he, too, feared that the end was very near, while, being wholly
unaccustomed to sickness of any kind, he felt very useless and
inefficient.
He bent and kissed his darling's pale, upturned face, and then went
swiftly out of the house.
Presently, however, he returned with a foreign looking flask or bottle in
his hand.
"Here is some brandy," he said, giving it to Virgie. "Mix some of it with
two-thirds as much water, and feed your father a teaspoonful at a time
every few minutes until he begins to rally, and call all your courage to
your aid, dear. Meantime, I will go to the nearest telegraph station and
send a message to Virginia City for a skillful physician."
Virgie looked up at him with quivering lips.
"Oh, what a comfort it is to have you to help me at this time!" she said.
He drew her into his arms and held her for a moment while she laid her
lips, softly and gracefully, to his cheek, in the first voluntary caress
that she had ever given him.
The act touched him, and told him how trustfully she relied upon him.
"My darling, I wish I could save you from every pang," he said, tenderly.
"But I must not linger—we must have help for your father as soon as
possible. Good-by, my love, for a little while, and be sure that I will
come back just as quickly as I can."
He went quickly out, and Virgie stole softly into her father's chamber, to
do what she could for him, and her heart began to gather something of hope
and courage when a few minutes later she heard the clatter of a horse's
hoofs outside, and knew that her lover was on the way for help.
Sir William did not spare his horse until he reached the station.
A telegram was sent and before long a reply was received saying that a
physician would leave Virginia City upon the next train coming that way.
But several hours must elapse before he could arrive, and Sir William was
brought up to the highest pitch of anxiety and impatience during the
interval, while to Virgie, anxiously watching and waiting by the bedside
of her father, they were the longest that she had ever known.
But she followed Sir William's directions regarding administering the
brandy, and she could see that after a few potions the invalid began to
rally somewhat.
Just as the sun was going down Sir William and the doctor arrived, and
then the young girl felt as if a mountain had rolled from her shoulders.
They remained all night watching with the patient, insisting that Virgie
should go to her rest, and worn out with her day of watching and anxiety,
she crept away to bed and slept the sleep of exhaustion.
In the morning Mr. Abbot seemed considerably stronger and better, and
Virgie's loving heart began to take courage again and to hope that he was
not really so very ill after all.
But these feelings received a sudden shock, when, after breakfast, her
lover drew her into the little parlor, his face very grave, yet full of
tenderness for her.
"I have something that I wish to say to you, Virgie—something to ask
you," he said; "but, remember, that you are to answer me frankly and
truly. You are not to be unduly influenced by my—by any one's wishes—to
consent to what might seem premature, and thus repugnant to you."
Virgie looked up at him questioningly, growing pale, and a thrill of fear
shooting through her heart.
"Your father feels," Sir William went on, answering her look, "as if he
would like to—to have your future settled before—his strength fails him
any further."
"Oh!" cried the young girl, clinging to her lover, a wild look in her
eyes, "papa is not going to—die! Do not tell me that. He is better
to-day, and he will—he must grow yet stronger."
"My darling," said Sir William, holding her close to him, and speaking
with sorrowful tenderness, "I am not going to deceive you. It would not be
right for me to do so. But Dr. Waters thinks that he cannot stay with us
much longer. He believes that he will rally for a while, but the state of
his system warns him that it will be but a very little while. And, Virgie,
your father wants us to be married at once. Darling, shall it be as he
wishes?"
But Virgie hardly heard these latter sentences.
She threw herself upon that manly breast in a wild burst of grief.
It was a dreadful blow to be told that the die was cast, that her father's
doom was very near.
In an indefinite way she had been dreading it ever since he himself had
talked so plainly about it to her, but with the buoyancy of youth she had
kept hoping against hope, and refusing to believe the fearful truth.
Sir William held her in her fond embrace, and allowed her to weep until
her tears were spent.
He knew that it was better to let her grief have its way. She would be
calmer and stronger afterward, though every sob and tear was bitter pain
to his loving heart.
She grew more quiet after a time, and at length he felt that he might
again speak of the subject so near his heart.
"Will you be my wife, Virgie? I would not have forced this upon you just
now but for your father's desire, and because Dr. Waters, who must return
to-day to his own duties, can make all necessary arrangements for us upon
his arrival in Virginia City.
"A clergyman must be sent to us, and there are some other matters which I
wish attended to, so we must decide now. Still, my darling, if you shrink
from this step, if the thought of it shocks you, I will not urge it, I
will wait until you are quite ready for it."
"Did papa propose it?" Virgie asked, hiding her flushed face from those
eager, loving eyes looking down upon her.
"Yes. I should not have presumed to suggest anything of the kind at such a
time," returned the young baronet, gravely. "But he thinks that his mind
would be easier if he could see you my wife. He wishes to give you away
irrevocably while he is able. Then, dear, I could be with you all the time
to help you in your care of him, to relieve you of much that would
encroach upon your strength. Tell me freely, Virgie, shall it or shall it
not be?"
"Do you really wish it? or—are you only yielding to his desire?" she
asked, in a low voice.
He gathered her closer to his breast until she could feel the eager
throbbing of his great heart.
"The day that makes you my wife will be the most blessed of all my life;
though, for your sake. I could wish our bridal to be celebrated under less
sorrowful circumstances Still it must not be as I wish. You must decide
the question," he said, gravely.
There was a long pause. Then Virgie said, quietly:
"I am willing."
"Is that all, love? Are you simply willing to do as your father requests?
Shall you not be glad to be my wife?" Sin William questioned, with a
slight accent of pain.
"Yes, Will, I shall be glad; but, oh, my father! my father!" she cried,
with a fresh burst of grief, as she realized all that this hurried
marriage meant.
He kissed her forehead softly, and breathed:
"Heaven bless you, my beloved, and help me to make your future as happy
as you have made me to-day."
He made her lie down upon the lounge, for she was nearly exhausted with
her grief. He arranged her pillow, drew down the curtains to soften the
light, and then went quietly out of the room.
When he came back an hour later he found her calm, though with a saddened
gravity upon her that made his heart ache.
He told her that Dr. Waters had gone back to Virginia City, but that they
had arranged for a clergyman to come to them to spend the following
Sabbath, when Mr. Abbot desired the marriage to take place.
Virgie was strangely thrilled by this intelligence. It was Tuesday, and in
five days more she would be Sir William Heath's wife! It all seemed like a
dream to her.
On Saturday afternoon an elderly and venerable-appearing gentleman made
his appearance before Mr. Abbots door.
He came in a strong mountain wagon drawn by a pair of handsome horses, and
with him there was a large trunk—which Sir William ordered carried up
stairs into Virgie's room—and two or three hampers, that were given to
Chi Lu to be taken care of.
Virgie turned a wondering, inquiring look upon her lover at these
proceedings, but he only answered by a quiet smile, and then introduced
her to the Rev. Dr. Thornton.
The young bride-elect received him with the charming ease and
self-possession that was natural to her, at which the stranger could not
refrain from regarding her with a look of mingled wonder and admiration.
When told of the errand upon which he was to go, he had consented for the
sake of the dying man; but he had expected to find a very rustic couple
in this rough region, and he was wholly taken aback to meet a polished
gentleman like Mr. Heath—as he was still known except to Virgie and her
father—and such an interesting and lovely woman as his young hostess
appeared to be.
The clergyman spent an hour with the invalid after tea, and he was no less
mystified and astonished regarding him. He realized that he was in a
household of more than ordinary culture and refinement, and he was sure
that there must be some strange history connected with their lives.
When Virgie went to bid her father good-night before going to her rest, he
drew her down to him and looked tenderly and wistfully into her face.
"My daughter," he questioned, "you have no shrinking no misgivings
regarding the step that you are about to take?"
"None, papa," she said, softly.
"And are you happy in the prospect of becoming Sir William's wife? Tell me
truly, my child."
"As happy as I can be while you are so ill, papa," Virgie answered, with
starting tears.
"Then I am at peace. God bless you, my darling, and may your life have
much of sunshine in it. I give you without fear into Will's care, for I
believe him to be one of nature's noblemen. And now," taking a package
from beneath his pillow, here is your marriage dowry; it is all yours,
Virgie, to do with as you will, and Sir William has promised to settle as
much more upon you, which he will tell you about later. You have been a
dear, good daughter to me, and I am very happy regarding your future; I
could not ask or wish anything better for you."
"Oh, papa, if I could only have you well again!" Virgie whispered, hiding
her tearful eyes upon his pillow.
An expression of pain flitted over the sick man's face.
"We will not think of that now," he said, gently; "and you must not give
way to grief, for it will unnerve us both, and I do not wish to see a pale
or sorrowful bride to-morrow. Now good-night, love, and try to get all the
rest that you can."
He kissed her again, and was about to let her go, when he caught her hand,
saying, with something of eagerness:
"But, by the way, Virgie, what will you wear to be married in?"
The young girl flushed, and her lips trembled.
"Oh papa, I have hardly given a thought to that, my heart has been so
heavy for you," she murmured, brokenly. Then she added, after a moment of
thought: "I have my pretty silk that you sent to San Francisco for in the
spring, and I wondered when I should ever wear it here, you know. It will
do, will it not?"
Mr. Abbot sighed.
"I suppose it will have to, since it is the best you have. I should like
to have you married in something white, dear; but make yourself look as
nicely as you can," he said in an unsteady voice.
Virgie dropped a light kiss upon his forehead, and then went out, her
heart heavy in spite of the great love which she bore the man whose wife
she was to become on the morrow, and the bright hopes which the future
held for her in spite of the shadow of death which was every moment
drawing nearer.