TRYING ON THE WEDDING-DRESS.
"What does she look like?" cried Mattie in a passion of admiration, as
they placed the bridal veil on the golden head.
"It would require a poet to tell us," said the countess; "and as we have
one close at hand, we will ask him. Mattie, go and bring Earle here.
Close the door after you. I should not like every one to know what we
have been doing."
And presently, Earle stood before a figure that seemed to him too
beautiful to be real--a tall, graceful figure that seemed to rise from
the waves of white satin and lace--as a graceful flower from its stem.
Through the bridal veil he caught the sheen of the golden hair--the
dainty color of the face--the deep color of the violet eyes. The sweet
odor of orange blossoms floated to him.
"Doris," he said, in a low voice; "my beautiful love, let me see your
face."
It was Lady Linleigh who threw back the veil, so that he might see the
lovely, blushing face. Tears stood in the young lover's eyes, although
he tried to control his emotion.
"Is it possible, Lady Linleigh?" he asked, "that this is my
wife--that--well, I had better not say too much; you do not think I
shall wake up and find it all a dream?"
"No, it is real enough."
Then he drew nearer to her.
"You will let me give you one kiss, Doris--Lady Linleigh will not be
horrified. You will be Lady Moray soon. What is my poor name worth, that
it should be so highly honored?"
He kissed her sweet lips.
"I must be careful," he said. "You look like a fairy. Perhaps you would
vanish if a mere mortal touched you. Now, let me look at you,
darling--at your dress, your veil, and your wreath. The picture is
perfect. I wish that I could put it into words."
He did, afterward--into words over which all England wept. Then, for a
few minutes, the three--Lady Linleigh, Mattie, and Earle--stood looking
at her in silence, they hardly knew why. Then Earle said:
"When I see that pretty veil again, it will be on the head of my beloved
wife."
Then they all three looked at the veil. Heaven help him! he little
dreamed how and when he should see it again. If they could have had the
faintest foreknowledge of that, the tragedy might have been averted.
Then Earle went away, and the bridal robes were taken to Lady Linleigh's
boudoir.
"They will not be seen there," said the countess. "I will lock the door
and keep the key; to-morrow it will not matter."
And Mattie helped her--poor, helpless child!--place them over a chair so
that the shining robes might not be injured.
It was Earle who proposed a ramble to the woods; dinner was to be later
than usual.
"Let us all three go," he said. "Mattie with us, Doris; it may be years
before we meet all together so happy again."
So it was settled, and they spent the remainder of that sunny, happy day
together.
They were sitting in a green, sunny dell, with the fall grass and wild
flowers springing luxuriantly around them, the tall trees spreading
overhead, the little birds filling the wood with song.
Lady Doris had never been so happy; she had almost forgotten the dark
background of sorrow and care. Mattie was happy, for it was impossible
to see them so young, so loving, with their graceful caresses and love,
without rejoicing with them.
"This is like Brackenside," said Earle. "How often we have sat together
in the woods there! And Mrs. Brace used to wonder how the farms would
advance if they were left to us."
"And well she might wonder," said Mattie; "even when I believed Doris to
be my own sister, I thought her the most beautiful, but the most useless
of human beings!"
"Thank you," laughed Lady Studleigh.
"It is altogether like a fairy tale," said Earle; "if I had read such a
story, I should say it was untrue; I should call such a story
exaggerated; yet, here we are, the living, breathing actors in the
drama."
"It is not such a very wonderful history, Earle," said Lady Studleigh;
"there are many private marriages, many children brought up in ignorance
of their real name and station; many a man like you--a gentleman and
genius by birth--rises by the simple force of his own merit to be one of
the magnates of the land."
Then she sighed to herself, and her brightness was for one moment
overcast as she remembered that hers was the only part of the story that
was improbable or extraordinary; no one would believe that she had been
guilty as she had been.
How often, in after years, they went back to that bright, long day.
Earle never saw a wild flower, or a green fern, that he did not turn
from it with a sick, aching heart.
They dined together; the earl would not have any visitors; it was the
last day but one of their darling, and they would have it all to
themselves. There they sat in the gloaming, and Doris sang to them. Who
knew the pain, the aching in one lonely heart? who knew the quiet
heroism of the girl with the brown, kindly face and shining hair?
The lamps were lighted, and, Lord Linleigh, laughing to think how they
had all been engrossed, drew a large parcel toward himself.
"This shows," he said, "that we have something unusual going on. This
packet of periodicals has been in the library for several days, and no
one has thought of opening it. It is the first time such a thing has
happened."
He unfastened the string and looked through them casually. One, however,
seemed to attract his attention. It was beautifully illustrated, and he
laid it down with a smile.
"Read that, Doris," he said; "it contains a warning for you."
"What is the warning, papa? I would rather take it from you than from
print."
"I have not read it. Look at the engraving. It is evidently the story of
a bride who, on her wedding-eve, dresses herself in her
bridal-robes--girlish vanity, I suppose--just to see how she looks. The
wedding-dress catches fire, and she is burned to death. Moral: young
ladies should never try on their wedding-dresses beforehand."
"What a tragical story!" said the countess.
"I can never see the use of such stories," said Mattie; "they make every
one sad who reads them."
"Burned to death on her wedding-eve," said Earle, "and all because she
wanted to see if she should be charming enough in the eyes of her lover!
There is no poetic justice in that."
"What was the heroine's name, papa?" asked Doris.
"Miriam Dale. I always notice that if a heroine is to come to any
pathetic end she is called Miriam."
"Did she love her lover very much?" asked Doris.
"Read the story, my dear," said the earl, indolently; "it is not much in
my line. The engraving caught my attention--a beautiful, frantic girl,
dressed in bridal robes and wreathed in flames. There is something
terrible about it."
Doris rose from her seat and opened the book; then, after looking at the
picture, she laid it down with a long, shuddering sigh.
"Stories often fail in poetic justice," she said. "If that girl was
young and innocent, if she had done no wrong, why should she have been
killed on her wedding-eve?"
"Stories are, after all, but sketches taken from life," said the earl,
"and life often seems to us, short-seeing mortals, to fail in poetic
justice, although, no doubt, everything is right and just in the sight
of Heaven. Doris is growing serious over it."
"We tried her wedding-dress on this morning, but there was no fire near
it, and no harm came of it."
"I am no believer in those stupid superstitions, although I have heard
it is unlucky to try on a wedding-dress; still I do not believe it will
make one iota of difference."
"How can it?" said Earle, calmly; and they all remembered that
conversation a few hours afterward.
The ninth of August came, and Lord Linleigh, as they sat at breakfast,
said laughingly:
"Now for a sensation! What will be said and thought by the different
members of this establishment when it is known that there is to be a
wedding to-morrow? It passes my comprehension. I promised to be patient,
but it was almost cruel of you, Doris, to place me in such a
predicament. I suppose I must call the principal servants together and
tell them that Lady Studleigh is to be married to-morrow, without form
or ceremony of any kind. There will be what the papers call a startling
surprise!"
"We have plenty to do," said the countess; "there will be no time for
rambles in the wood. Ulric, when you have made your announcement, will
you go to the vicarage? You have arrangements to make there, and you
must take Earle with you. I cannot spare Doris to him this morning."
So the gentlemen went away.
"It is a strange whim of Doris', this desire for secrecy," said the
earl, as they rode along. "I must confess I do not understand it; do
you?"
"Not in the least," replied Earle, "she seemed very intent upon it. I
think, Lord Linleigh," he added, with a laugh, "that I shall learn one
thing as I grow older."
"What will that be?" asked the earl.
"Not to try to fathom the caprice of ladies, but to yield gracefully to
it."
"You are a wise man," said Lord Linleigh, with a look of sincere
admiration; "that is the true secret of wedded content."
While Lord Linleigh and Earle were busy at the vicarage, where it
required some time and some persuasion to induce the rector to believe
what they had to say, the ladies were wonderfully busy. The news spread,
and as Lord Linleigh had foreseen, caused a great sensation.
Lady Studleigh to be married to-morrow!--and such a marriage--no
ceremony, no gayeties, nothing at all!
Lady Linleigh had, however, considerably changed the state of affairs,
by saying that the arrangements for the wedding had been hurried so as
to permit of Lady Doris going abroad in August, and, before going, she
intended making a handsome present to each member of the household.
Their opinion was, in consequence, considerably changed.
When the earl and his household met at dinner there were much laughter
and amusement--much to tell; the rector's amazement, the astonishment
of every one who heard the news. The earl was in high spirits, laughing
and jesting all the more that he saw his wife's gentle face growing sad
and sorrowful.
"You will be gone this time to-morrow," she said. "I shall fancy I hear
your voice and see your face all day, and for many long days."
"Yes," said Doris, softly, "I shall be gone this time to-morrow."
"But you will not be so very far away," said Mattie.
"No further than London," said Earle. "I like crossing the Channel; do
you, Doris?"
"No, I am not a good sailor," she replied.
"Ladies seldom are," said the earl. "Estelle, I have resolved Doris'
last evening with us shall be the happiest she has spent at Linleigh. We
will not have one sad word."