THE SECOND BRIDAL MORN.
We must return to Elmhurst House and take up the thread of Salome's
destiny, where we left it on the morning on which the young Duke of
Hereward had called on Lady Belgrade and informed her ladyship of the
arrest of the mysterious, vailed passenger, and implored her to keep all
the papers announcing that arrest, or in any manner referring to the
tragedy at Castle Lone, from the sight of the bereaved daughter and
betrothed bride.
"And so the mysterious vailed woman had been discovered, and she turns
out to be Rose Cameron!" repeated Lady Belgrade, reflectively. Then,
after a pause, she said: "I wonder who was her confederate in that
atrocious crime--or, rather, who was her master in it? for she is too
weak and simple to have been anything but a blind tool, poor creature!"
"You knew her, then?" said the duke.
"Only by report while I was staying at Castle Lone. But the report came
from the tenantry, who had known her from childhood--a handsome,
ignorant, vain and credulous fool of a peasant girl, more likely to
become the victim of some godless man, than the confederate of murderers.
Did _you_ know her, duke?" meaningly inquired the lady, as she
remembered the reports in circulation at Castle Lone, that connected the
name of the handsome shepherdess with that of the young nobleman.
"No, I never saw the girl in my life. I have heard her beauty highly
praised by some of the late companions of my hunting expeditions at Ben
Lone; but I had no opportunity of judging for myself; and, moreover,
I always discouraged such conversation among my comrades. But there, that
is quite enough of the unhappy girl. I mentioned her arrest not as a most
important fact only, but in order to warn you not to let our dear Salome
get a sight of the daily papers, until you have looked over them, and
assured yourself that they contain no reference to this arrest."
"I see the wisdom of your warning, and I will endeavor to be guided by
it; but it may be difficult to do so. My very sequestration of the papers
may excite Salome's suspicions."
"Then lose them; tear them; but do not let her see any part of them which
may contain any reference to this girl. I thank Heaven that to-morrow I
shall be able to take her out of the country and guard her peace and
safety with my own head and hand. I shall take care also to keep her away
until the trial and conviction of the criminals shall be over and done
with, so that she may not be in any way harassed or distressed by the
proceedings."
"Yes, that will be very wise. If she were in England or Scotland during
the time of the trial, she might be subpoenaed as a witness for the
prosecution. She was the first, poor child, to discover the dead body of
her father, you know," said Lady Belgrade.
"I do not forget that circumstance, or what distress it may yet cause
her," replied the young duke.
And very soon after he took leave and went away.
Lady Belgrade's task in keeping the day's papers from the sight of Salome
Levison was easier than she had anticipated.
Salome, deeply interested and absorbed in the final preparations for her
marriage, did not even think of the newspapers, much less ask for them.
The bridal day dawned, once more, for the heiress of Lone.
Salome, with her attendant, was up early. The young girl, since her
departure from Lone Castle, the scene of her father's murder, and her
arrival at Elmhurst House, and occupations with her wedding preparations,
had wonderfully recovered her health and spirits.
Yet on this, her bridal day, she arose with a heavy heart. A vague dread
of impending evil weighed upon her spirits.
This occasion might well have brought back vividly cruelly to her memory,
that fatal bridal morn when, going to invoke her father's presence and
blessing on her marriage, she found him lying stiff and stark in the
crimson pool of his own curdled blood. She had no father here on earth,
now, to give her to the man she loved, and to bless her union with him.
That, in itself might have been enough to account for the gloom that
darkened her wedding day. But that was not all. For, though her father
was not visibly present here on earth, she knew that he watched and
blessed her from his eternal home. No! but her prophetic soul was
darkened by the shadow of some approaching misfortune.
Margaret, her new maid, brought her a cup of coffee in her chamber. After
she had drank it, she went sadly in her dressing-room, to make her toilet
for the altar.
Margaret was her only attendant and dresser.
Salome was still in the deepest mourning for her murdered father. In
leaving it off, for the marriage altar only, she had resolved to replace
it only by such a simple dress as might have been worn by any portionless
bride in the middle class of society.
She wore a plain white tulle dress, over a lustreless white silk, an
Illusion vail, a wreath of orange buds, and white kid gloves and gaiters.
She wore no jewels of any sort.
Her bridesmaids, only two in number, were dressed like herself, except
that they wore no vails, and that their wreaths were of white rose buds.
At eleven o'clock in the morning, a handsome but very plain coach drew up
before the gate of Elmhurst Terrace.
The bride, attended by her two bridesmaids and Lady Belgrade, entered it,
and was driven off quietly to St. George's, Hanover square.
No invitations had been issued for the wedding, except to the nearest
family connections of the bride and bridegroom.
But unfortunately the news of the approaching marriage had crept out, and
got into the morning papers, and consequently the street before the
church, the churchyard, and the church itself, were crowded with
spectators.
Way was made for the small bridal procession, which was met at the
entrance by the bridegroom's party, consisting of himself, his "best
man," and his second groomsman.
There, with reverential tenderness, the young Duke of Hereward greeted
his bride. And the small procession passed up the central aisle, and
formed before the altar.
Around them stood the nearest friends of the two families.
Behind them, extending back to the farthest extremity of the church,
crowded a miscellaneous mass of spectators.
This must have happened through the oversight of those parties whose duty
it was to have had the church doors closed and guarded, so that the
marriage of the so recently and cruelly orphaned daughter might be as
private and decorous as it was intended to be.
Baron Von Levison, the head of the Berlin branch of the great European
banking firm of Levison, had come over to act the part of father to his
orphan niece, and stood near the chancel to give her away.
The Bishop of London, assisted by two clergymen, all in their sacred
robes of office, stood within the chancel to perform the marriage
ceremony.
After the short preliminary exhortation, the ceremony was commenced. The
bride was very pale, paler than she had ever been, even in those dread
days when she stood always face to face with death. In making the
responses her voice faltered, fainted, and died away with every new
effort. No one would have thought from her look, tone or manner, that she
was giving her hand, where her heart had so long and so entirely been
bestowed. She seemed rather like a victim forced unwillingly to the altar
by despotism or by necessity, than a happy bride about to be united to
the man of her choice.
At length the trial was over. The benediction was pronounced, and the
young husband sealed the sacred rites by a kiss on the cold lips of his
youthful wife.
Friends crowded around with congratulations; but all who took the hand of
Salome, Duchess of Hereward, felt its icy chill even through her glove
and theirs.
"No wonder poor child," they said to themselves; "she is thinking of her
father, murdered on her first appointed wedding-day."
But it was not that. Salome had too clear a spiritual insight not to know
that her father was more alive than he had been while on earth, and that
he was bending down and blessing her, even there.
No; but the dark shadow of the approaching ill drew nearer and nearer.
She could not know what it was. She could only feel it coming and
chilling and darkening her soul.
After a few minutes passed in the vestry, during which the marriage of
Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Duke of Hereward, and Salome Levison was
duly registered and signed and witnessed, the newly-married pair were
at liberty to return home.
The young duke handed his youthful duchess into his own handsomely
appointed carriage.
Baron Von Levison took her vacated place in the carriage with Lady
Belgrade and the bridesmaids.
The few invited guests, being only the nearest family connections of the
bride and bridegroom, got into their carriages and followed to the
bride's residence on Westbourne Terrace, where the wedding breakfast
awaited.
There were now no decorated halls and drawing-rooms, no bands of music,
no display of splendid bridal presents, no parade whatever.
To be sure, an elegant breakfast-table was laid for the guests. It was
decorated only with fragrant white flowers from the home conservatory,
furnished with white Sevres china and silver, and provided with a
luxurious and dainty repast. That was all. All magnificence and splendor
of display was carefully avoided in the feast as in the ceremony.
Only ten in all sat down to the table, viz., the bride and bridegroom,
two bridesmaids, two groomsmen, Lady Belgrade, Baron Von Levison, the
Bishop of London, and the Rector of St. George's.
A graver wedding party never was brought together. Even the youthful
bridesmaids and groomsmen, expected to be "the life of the company," were
awed into silence by the preponderance of age and clerical dignity in the
little assembly, for the bishop was not ready with his usual harmless
little jest, and the rector did not care to take precedence over his
superior.
The conversation was serious rather than merry, and the speeches earnest
rather than witty.
Near the end of the breakfast, the bride's health was proposed by the
first groomsman in a complimentary speech, which was acknowledged in a
few appropriate remarks by her nearest relative, the Baron Von Levison.
The bridegroom's health was then proposed by the baron, and acknowledged
by a deep and silent bow from the duke.
Then the health of the bridesmaids, the clergy, Lady Belgrade, and the
Baron Von Levison were duly honored.
And then the young bride arose, courtesied to her guests, and attended by
her bridesmaids, retired to change her wedding dress for a traveling
suit.
"How deadly pale she looks! Is my niece really happy in this marriage?"
inquired the Baron Von Levison, in a low tone, of Lady Belgrade, as the
guests left the table.
"She is very happy in this marriage, which she has set her heart on for
years. In a word, this young wife is madly in love with her husband. But
you must consider what an awful shock she had on her first appointed
wedding-day, and how it must recur to her mind in this," answered the
dowager.
"Ah, to be sure! to be sure! poor child! poor child!" muttered the German
head of the family.
Meanwhile the young Duchess of Hereward reached her apartments.
Her dresser, Margaret, was in attendance. Her travelling suit of black
bombazine, trimmed with black crape, was laid out. With the assistance of
her maid she slowly divested herself of her white vail and robes, and put
on the black travelling dress. A black sack and a black felt hat, both
deeply trimmed with crape, and black gloves, completed her toilet.
When she was quite ready she kissed her two bridesmaids and said:
"Leave me alone now for a few minutes, dear girls, and wait for me in the
drawing-room. I will join you very soon."
The young ladies returned her kisses and retired.
Then Salome dismissed her maid, that Margaret should prepare to accompany
her mistress.
Finally, as soon as she found herself alone, she sank on her knees to
pray, that, if possible, this dark shadow might be permitted to pass away
from her soul; that light and strength and grace might be given her to do
all her duties and bear all her burdens as Christian wife and neighbor;
that she and her husband might be blessed with true and eternal love for
each other, for their neighbor, and above all for their Lord.
As she finished her prayer, and arose from her knees, her maid re-entered
the room, dressed to attend her mistress on her journey.
The girl did not forget to honor the bride with her new title.
"I beg pardon, your grace," she said, "but there is a strange-looking old
woman down stairs who says she is a widow from Westminster Road, and that
she must see your grace on a matter of life and death, before you start
on your wedding tour."
"I do not know any such person," said the young duchess, slowly, while
that vague shadow of impending calamity gathered over her spirit more
darkly and heavily than before.
"Thomas, the hall footman, brought me the message from the woman, your
grace, and I went down to see her myself before troubling you. I thought
she might be only a bolder begger than usual. But she is no begger, your
grace. She looks respectable," answered the girl.
"Go to the woman and explain to her that I have no time to see her now,
and ask her if she cannot intrust her business to you to be brought to
me," said the duchess.
The maid courtesied and left the room.
"What is it? What is it? Why does every unusual event strike such deadly
terror to my heart?" inquired the bride, as she sank, pale and trembling,
into her resting-chair.
In a few minutes the door opened and Margaret re-appeared.
"I beg your grace's pardon, but the old woman is very obstinate and
persistent. She will not tell me her business. She says it is with your
grace alone; that it concerns your grace most of all; that it is a matter
of more importance than life or death; and that--indeed I beg your
pardon, your grace--but I do not like to deliver the rest of her message,
it seems so impertinent," said the girl, blushing and casting down her
eyes.
"Nevertheless, deliver it. I will excuse you. The impertinence will not
be yours," said the bride, as a cold chill struck her heart.
"Then, your grace, she seized me by the two shoulders and looked me
straight in the face, and said--'Tell your mistress, if she would save
herself from utter ruin, she will see me and hear what I have to tell
her, before she sees the Duke of Hereward again!'" answered the girl,
in a low tone.
"'_Before I see the Duke of Hereward again_.' Ah, what is it? What
is it?" murmured the bewildered bride to herself. Then she spoke to
Margaret. "Bring the woman up here. I will see her at once."
Once more the girl obediently left the room.
The young bride covered her pale face with her hands, and trembled with
dread of--she knew not what!
A few minutes passed. The door opened again, and Margaret re-appeared,
ushering in Rose Cameron's housekeeper.
Salome looked up.