The delicious month of May had now come round once more. Nature,
awakening to life, put on its wondrous robe of many colors, and the
sun in proud consciousness of its power to tempt with the alluring
warmth, the flowers concealed in the mystic bosom of Mother Earth,
shone with ever increasing fervency. In Central Park Nature's feathered
choir poured forth its gay song into the lovely spring air, while the
perfumed lilacs lavished their scent upon all who came, caring not
whether the dweller in tenements breathed it in greedily, or whether
the superior residents of Fifth Avenue ignored it contemptuously.
In the house of the rich manufacturer the perfume of the lilacs was
not missed; the most _recherche_ hot-house plants supplanting them
in fragrance were artistically grouped on both sides of the great
staircase down to the front door, filling all the room with a perfume
that bewildered the senses. Servants in livery hastened busily, but
noiselessly, about, putting the last touches to the decorations of
the parlor for the wedding ceremony to be performed on this day. In
the adjoining room a beautiful altar was visible, decked with superb
flowers from which festoons of myrtle ran up to a hanging bell of red
and white roses.
Carriage after carriage rolled to the door, from which descended fair
guests, arrayed in splendid Worth and Felix gowns, while faultlessly
dressed gentlemen helped them to alight.
In her room upstairs stood Lucy, in a white dress and gold-embroidered
veil, with orange blossoms upon her bosom. Although apparently calm,
she was deathly pale, and her heart, whose feelings had been suppressed
with so much difficulty, betrayed itself by violent beating. A nameless
uneasiness was upon her, almost suffocating her at times. Eugene's fair
head and disquieting eyes were before her mind vividly--now--when in an
hour's time she would be the bride of another. More than once she was
obliged to have recourse to the smelling-bottle which stood upon the
dressing-table, in order not to give way--to be strong enough to bear
the torture of the ceremony with dignified calmness.
"The shock to my parents--the society in which I move--no, no, there is
no retreat for me!" she murmured with decision in answer to her heart's
loud insistence. She was marrying George in fulfillment of her parents'
wishes and also to escape from her tormenting self. That in making this
decision she had buried the ideals of her youth--her life's happiness,
no one should ever guess. It was time now to steer boldly forth into
the deep sea of matrimony, deprived forever of her life's compass.
Mrs. Denison, in a costly dress, had repeatedly opened the window and
gazed with anxious impatience at all the carriages that came from the
lower part of the city, but she saw no sign of their own carriage so
impatiently awaited. Mr. Denison had gone down town in the morning,
promising to be back before noon, and now it was four o'clock.
Disquieting rumors had already begun to circulate to the effect that
the great banking house with which their whole fortune was deposited
was on an unstable footing, owing to a rapid fall in the stock market.
Mr. Denison had said nothing of this to his wife, although a horrible
agitation had taken possession of him, when, upon leaving the house he
had told the coachman to drive at full speed to the banking house.
The guests were all assembled. The clergyman was waiting, but still
there was no sign of Mr. Denison. An uneasy whisper, an ever-increasing
impatience, could be noticed. Mrs. Denison's thin face took on a
feverish red. Elmore's father was just about to telephone down town,
when, at last the carriage rolled up to the door. The coachman, excited
with overdriving, leaped from his seat and opened the carriage door;
but he had no sooner cast a glance into the carriage than he uttered a
loud cry, and with unsteady footsteps, hastened to Mrs. Denison.
"Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Denison, please don't be alarmed--" he
panted in a trembling voice, "The big banking house down town failed
this morning--and--it seems--Mr. Denison was so fearfully upset--so
fearfully--when he came out of the bank his face was all red--and I
heard him say in a low voice that he would have to fail too! Yes--and
now--please don't be frightened--he's lying dead in the carriage!"
With a loud shriek, wringing her hands and moaning, Mrs. Denison
hastened to the carriage. The gentlemen guests carried Mr. Denison's
body, still warm, into the house. "Heart failure," said one to another.
The women gathered around Mrs. Denison, who was loudly weeping, and
tried to console her. Then one by one they stole away, since it was
quite obvious that there would be no more thought of the marriage that
day.
Lucy, worn out by weeks of mental agitation, was overcome by the
sudden shock of this sad news, and fell back without a word upon the
sofa, gliding gently from it to the floor. A beneficent unconsciousness
clouded her perceptions. No one had time to care for her; all the
servants had been sent right and left to bring medical aid for Mr.
Denison. All means of restoration were tried, but failed to bring him
back to life. "Apoplexy," said the physicians, and silently left the
house.
Meanwhile Lucy lay on the soft carpet without a word or motion. In her
dazzling white dress, with the gold-embroidered veil, with the marble
paleness on her face, she looked like a sculptured goddess who had
fallen from her pedestal.
The last wedding guests, those who had helped to carry Mr. Denison up
to his room, had just driven away, sighing and shaking their heads as
they discussed the sad event. The stillness of death settled over the
house. Suddenly a sound was heard as of soft footsteps drawing near.
Then the door of Lucy's boudoir, which had been left ajar, was gently
opened. A curly-headed young man with a disturbed countenance appeared
upon the threshold, looking right and left with admiring wonder. The
front door was still standing open--no one had found time to close it.
Eugene, bringing Lucy's portrait, had thus been able to penetrate
unperceived, to the upper story. Hardly able to believe his eyes, he
gazed at the fair form in bridal attire lying upon the floor.
Startled and trembling in all his limbs, he was about to close the door
he had just opened, when he caught sight of Lucy's face, pale as death,
through the veil. Hastily putting down the portrait, he darted to her
side, and trembling with intense excitement, caught her cold hands to
his heart.
[Illustration: HE GAZED AT THE FAIR FACE IN BRIDAL ATTIRE LYING UPON
THE FLOOR]
"Miss Lucy! Miss Lucy!" he cried, at first in a low voice, then louder
and more anxiously--but she still lay there, cold and apparently
lifeless.
Distracted, he looked about for help. He caught sight of the smelling
bottle which Lucy had already used so often. He seized it quickly,
pushed aside her veil, and held it to her nostrils.
A slight tremor passed through the beautiful limbs. Lucy moved her
hand, but let it fall again. Eugene sprang up joyfully. As if she
had been a feather he lifted the girl, now stirring a little. In
blissful intoxication, he clasped his heart's ideal for one moment in
his arms. Her breath played over his face, making him tremble with
delight--carrying him out of himself, so that he pressed his lips to
her's, not knowing what he did. "How has this bright creature filled
my lonely life with sunshine!" he murmured sadly to himself, as with a
deep sigh he laid Lucy on the sofa.
And then,--he felt the soft arms suddenly thrown about his neck. Lucy,
still dazed and dreaming, had forgotten all about her wedding day,
and knew nothing of her father's death. Eugene's words of love had
roused her from her death-like stupor; she was conscious only of his
nearness--of the intoxication of his kiss.
"Oh, Eugene," she whispered, "what a lovely dream!" She still lay with
closed eyes. Eugene, speechless with delight, pressed her passionately
to his beating heart. Lucy, startled, opened her eyes.
Suddenly George Elmore, his eyes blazing, stood before her, looking
down upon her haughtily.
Without losing his self-command in the least he said with cutting
scorn, "Oh, I am interrupting a tete-a-tete! We have a lover, have
we? Just as well I have found it out in time! Ha, ha! I wish you much
happiness--especially as in my own case my family would have to decline
the honor of an alliance with a bankrupt's daughter!" Then he bowed
coldly and went out.
Lucy, realizing the situation, uttered a cry and attempted to rise,
but once again overcome with weakness, fell back with the same marble
paleness upon her brow.