"Oh, Love' before thy glowing shrine
My early vows were paid--
My hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine
But these are now decayed."
--_Byron_
It was a dark, heavy evening in midsummer. Great volumes of leaden gray
clouds were piling one over the other in the sulky sky, the air was
laden with an unshed moisture, and a threatening breeze rustled through
the dry, dusty leaves of the crowded elms. There was an unnatural
stillness in Nature--everything looked drowsy and tired, the boughs
swayed and nodded, and the flowers hung their sleepy heads like worn-out
midnight watchers.
Fifine had hoped madly for the storm to keep off, and now as her fleet
steps brought her nearer the rendezvous at the end of the avenue, her
heart misgave her, and an indescribable feeling of awe, that had
something of a dread presentiment in it, filled her very soul. She
pressed the cherished gift for her lover close against her heaving
breast, and when she reached the shady nook where they were accustomed
to meet, her breath was coming in wild gasps, and her eyes were dilated
far beyond their natural size. She was a little too soon, but in her
anxiety, watchmg the clouds, the moments sped quickly by, until the
arrival of the man she so madly adored.
He could not restrain a look of admiration as his eyes rested on her
dark beauty. She had put on her daintiest bonnet, with cardinal ribbons
tied under her chin, and a bunch of crushed camellias of the same
becoming hue nestled against her shell-like ear. A light cashmere
overdress surmounted a petticoat of crimson velvet, and tiny jewels were
fastened at her ears and throat. The flush of excitement that mantled
her fair young face, lent an additional charm to her countenance, as she
looked into her lover's face with all the eagei joy and confidence that
filled her heart.
Bijou looked a little more serious than usual, as he knocked the ashes
from the end of his cigar.
"_Ma foi_, you are enchanting to-night, Josephine," said he by way of
greeting, "but as it looks like a storm, we must make business brisk. I
have come to-night, Fifine," he said, taking her hand, "to ask a proof
of the words you I uttered last night. I want you to show me bravely
that you do think a little of me."
"Only say the word, Bijou. Anything that is in my power. I will do
it--anything that is not her voice faltered.
"Is not what?" he asked very tenderly, bending over her, and then she
regretted having doubted him. How could _he_ ask her anything that was
not right? Poor Fifine.
"Never mind," she stammered, "I will do anything I can to prove the
truth of last nights words."
"Darling" was the muttered answer "Come here, Fifine, nearer to me, I
have something to show to your eyes alone--something that has no real
worth at present, but I which will be a sacred thing in a little while."
Fifine, her eyes open wide, and a curious expression of wonder in her
face, bent over his broad shoulder. She saw nestling in its bed of ruby
velvet, a plain gold band, tiny as her slender finger, but rich and
heavy.
She was slow to understand this silent surprise, and only said in a
girlish way,
"How lovely it is."
Then Bijou looked earnestly at her, and his voice was almost mournful as
he said.
"If it is beautiful as it lies there in its folds of velvet, meaningless
and comparatively useless, what would it be, do you think, were it a
bond of union between two kindred souls--if it laid the duties of love,
honor and submission on one, those of love, respect and kindness on the
other, if it were the outward sign of a man's intense devotion and the
safeguard of a woman's honor, if it was a love that bound two creatures
to each other first, and then to their Creator--what then, Fifine?"
"Oh, Bijou '" she cried, "you excite me with such grave speeches. If it
were all these things it would indeed be sacred."
"Come, Fifine, you have said you will do my wish; let me place this
golden band upon your ringer, and insure you to me for the days to
come."
What sensational story she had ever read could equal this? Was ever any
thing so purely romantic or exalted? In that moment all the dreary days
of her lonely life seemed blotted out by the exquisite realization of a
new happiness that was stealing over her. But still, there was an inward
struggle in her soul. Thoughts of her father's wrath thrust themselves
between her and her gratification. She lifted up her hands in fear, and
said in a hushed voice.
"Bijou, I do indeed love you, but _this_ I dare not do, _this_ is too
much. It is all so sudden, so soon." She recoiled a little as she spoke,
and his face darkened ominously.
"Then your words were false!" he said in a cold, cruel voice, "and since
you have deceived me I will ask nothing more. I did not deserve this
from you, but we part in time."
He stood proudly up and prepared to leave. There was a struggle in the
breast of his victim--that he could see. In another moment she was close
beside him.
"Do not go, Bijou," she said piteously, "after you have taught me to
love you as I do, oh! do not leave Fifine. Tell me what you wish, my
Bijou I am ready to do your will."
There was an unpleasant smile of triumph stealing over his handsome
mouth. He stretched forth his hand, and took her trembling one in his.
"You must wear this golden band," he said, "as a token of my
earnestness, this will bind us one to another Let me see it on your
dainty hand."
But she shrank again from his grasp. She was frightfully agitated. The
low angry rumble of distant thunder was in her ears, the trees were
swaying to and fro, and the leaves were turned upon their stems--the
storm was drawing nearer!
At last she spoke again.
"You cannot mean, that I must become your wife in this strange way,
Bijou," her voice was husky and trembling, "you have not the power."
He smothered a curse, and his brow contracted. "Power? why have I not
power as well as another? are the cold words of a ceremony more binding
than the outpourings of a burning heart? Of what avail are cold
formalities to souls that are blended already in devotion and love?"
"Hush Bijou," she interposed, frightened at his vehemence, "such words
are a profanation. A marriage ceremony could not increase our love, but
it is indispensable all the same."
He saw she was firm and that the concession must come from him.
"I see you are a slave to public opinion and church authority," he said,
"but this need not be an obstacle between us and our cherished plans. It
is growing late now, but if we make good speed, we could reach the
village before, dark, and secure the indispensable"--he laid a peculiar
stress on the word, "though unnecessary services of the curate".
"But my father--the hour," cried the distracted girl.
"They of course are of more consequence than your love and your
promise," he answered coldly, "decide Fifine, for I am impatient. Your
home or your love, separation or your promise."
There was a moment of irresolution, but only one, ere the deluded girl
yielded everything to the object of her insane devotion. A satisfied
look stole over his face as he drew her arm within his, and prepared to
leave the place.
Fifine knew very little of the village roads. Bijou though not residing
in the place more than three months, led through the thickest and most
unfrequented paths. It was growing dark. A yellowish sort of twilight, a
forerunner of the storm, was now giving place to a heavy pall of black,
that was stealing a descent, noiseless and quiet as a snowflake over the
earth. The stillness was doubly oppressive to the unfortunate girl, who
leaning on the arm of the handsome Bijou, passed out through the quiet
rustic gate, leaving her home and her father amid such rich
surroundings, to brave the world with a man of whom she knew nothing,
save that she loved him madly, and that his name was Bijou.
Outside the garden gate, at a little distance, stood a small covered
buggy, and a horse, the latter tied to a tree and pawing the ground with
irritation. Fifine was a little surprised.
"I provided for the best or worst," Bijou said untying the restless
animal, and helping Josephine to enter the carriage. Then silence fell
on them again. They drove very fast, for the darkness was thickening and
Bijou required all his tact, to engineer his horse safely through the
path. Fifine at times would forget the rashness of the step she had just
taken, and would fancy herself back under the old trees that, each
moment, were being left farther and farther behind, until some short
words from Bijou, broke the spell of her reverie and hurled her back
into the strange reality.
They drove for a very long time, and at last Fifine could discern little
lights twinkling in the distance, through the dark surroundings.
"How long it is!" she said once, a little wearily.
"Patience," Bijou answered, "we are near enough now," and then silence
fell again, which was unbroken until the horse; steaming and panting,
stopped before the door of a small house. The room into which he led her
was low and scantily furnished, and only the dim light of a tallow
candle, helped to make things discernible through the awful blackness
that had settled down. Great leaping shadows danced over the low-ceiling
and dingy walls, looking like mocking fiends to the despairing girl,
whose heart was filled with a nameless terror at the consequences of her
own rashness. But Bijou held her hand firmly within his own, and spoke
reassuring words all the while. The clergyman advanced from a corner of
the room--a tall spare man whose features being entirely new to
Josephine, were scarcely discernible in the dim, unsteady light of the
candle. He seemed not surprised at their coming, which in itself
surprised Fifine very much. He coolly and systematically proceeded to
"tie the marriage knot." His voice was terribly monotonous, and the
words sounded more like a "_Dies irae_" in a _requiem_ service, than
those whose mission it was to crown the happiness of two young hearts.
They had scarce begun the solemn service, when a great flash of
lightning filled the small close room, followed by a roar of thunder
that drowned for a time the sepulchral voice of the clergyman. Fifine
drew nearer to her lover and looked pleadingly into his face. But
something in his eyes chilled and repelled her, she knew not why.
The storm increased, great peals of boisterous thunder rolled over their
heads, the rain so long pent up, came pattering down m fury around them.
The ceremony however was progressing, the binding words were sounding
through the dingy little room, the ring was nestling now on Fifine's
trembling finger, the closing sentence was being uttered, when a wild
flash of greenish lightning crossed the little window near them, filling
the room with its lurid glare, lending a most unearthly appearance to
the pallid faces of the two men before her. A horrible feeling came over
her, but it did not last long. As the flash disappeared, a gush of wind
entered a broken pane, the candle went blank out before her stupid gaze,
and she forgot everything in that one instant, for a merciful Providence
took away her consciousness, and with a shriek she fell, a motionless
heap on the floor.