THE BRIDE’S HOME-COMING.
“Give me but thy love, and I
Envy none beneath the sky;
Pains and perils I defy
If thy presence cheer me.
Give me but thy love, my sweet;
Joy shall bless us when we meet;
Pleasures come and cares retreat
When thou smilest near me!”
Viola herself had written the newspaper article, smiling vindictively
at the cruel stabs it held for Philip Desha’s heart.
Then she handed the sheet to her new-made husband, and he began to read
it, exclaiming, admiringly:
“Capital, Viola! This will hoodwink everybody, and cover Desha with
confusion.”
“That is what I most desire!” she replied, bitterly; and he saw that
her complete revenge absorbed all her thoughts.
He read on, and at the last words he started in surprise, and
whispered, hurriedly:
“Viola, this latter clause? I did not know about that! I--I--shall be
accused of being a fortune-hunter!”
“Oh, no; for the fact of my being my mother’s sole heiress was not
generally known. In fact, papa has never told me of it, but Aunt
Edwina mentioned it one day,” replied Viola, rising, and standing by
his side, a pale, excited bride, with a strange fire burning in her
splendid eyes.
They were alone where kindly Doctor Meade had left them to do their
writing, and Maxwell looked wistfully at the beautiful, pallid face,
longing to repeat the kiss he had dared to press on her lips at the
close of their strange marriage vows.
But he remembered how cold and unresponsive they had been, and saw
no invitation in her eyes now, so he stifled the longing, and said,
quietly:
“If you will excuse me a moment, I will arrange with Doctor Meade for
sending off this notice to the newspapers, and see if the cab I ordered
has arrived.”
He hurried out, and the pale bride stood alone amid the ruin of her
hopes and in the pride of her revenge.
She could think of nothing but of how cleverly she had turned the
tables on Philip Desha and Florian Gay.
“They will be mystified by the suddenness of my marriage, and perhaps
believe it was premeditated, after all,” she thought, hopefully. “What
a clever man Mr. Maxwell is to have thought of this way of checkmating
them. I shall always be very grateful to him, both for preventing my
rash attempt at suicide and for helping me to my revenge.”
And it did not occur to her half-distraught mind then that a husband
had a claim to more than gratitude at her hands.
“Our cab is ready. We will go home now,” he said, returning, and
leading her out.
The cab rolled lightly over the smooth streets, and Viola began to
realize all at once the change that was coming into her own life; but
she did not repent her rash marriage. In her bitter mood she would have
sacrificed her own life rather than have foregone to-morrow’s triumph.
They were quite silent for a few minutes; then her husband said, kindly:
“Of course you realize, Viola, that the home to which you are going is
very different from the luxurious one you have left? We live in a tiny
cottage on Capitol Hill, and my invalid mother and my orphan cousin,
little Mae Sweetland, are dependent on me for support. But my mother
will soon have a pension. My father was a soldier, a captain in the
Federal Army, though while we had a modest competence, mother never
wished for a pension, but the failure of a bank left us penniless, and
I had to leave West Point, where I was being educated, to come home and
take up journalistic work to support our helpless family. But mother
will receive her pension soon, with back pay, so that our home will be
more comfortable then, and I can go away to Cuba with an easy mind.”
Viola had listened attentively, and now she answered:
“And I shall have my own fortune, too, so I shall not lack for the
luxury to which I have been used.”
“Not a word against my going to Cuba,” thought the handsome young
husband, with a heavy heart.
But he could not blame her in the least. She had not professed any
regard for him; she had only accepted him in preference to the other
alternative--George Merrington--“silly, lovesick boy,” as she had
contemptuously termed him.
Besides, he had told her frankly that he would go to Cuba after their
marriage. Perhaps that fact had turned the balance in his favor and
made her accept his offer.
“Here we are!” he said, cheerfully, as the cab stopped before a little
white cottage inclosed in a grassy plot. “It is eleven o’clock, yet
I see a light in the parlor window. They are waiting up for me, dear
mother and little Mae.”
He handed her out, drew her hand through his arm with a fond,
protecting air, and they walked up the narrow graveled path together,
the young man saying, encouragingly:
“It will be a great surprise to them, my bringing home a bride
to-night; but they will love you for my sake!”
Slipping his latch-key into the door, he opened it, and led her into a
small unlighted hall.
At the sound of their footsteps the parlor door opened quickly, and
in the sudden light that streamed out, Viola saw a fair young girl
standing smiling on the threshold--a petite blonde, lovely as a doll,
with a glad light of welcome shining in her deep azure eyes.
“Rolfe!” she cried, joyously, before she perceived Viola.
But the next moment a startled look came over her face, and crying,
“Oh!” in a voice of dismay, she darted back to a sofa where a handsome,
dark-eyed woman lay resting with the weariness of an invalid.
To this lady Rolfe Maxwell led his pale bride, saying, smilingly:
“Mother, don’t get excited, please, but I have a great surprise for you
and Mae. I was quietly married at Doctor Meade’s tonight, and this is
my bride, Viola!”
There was a moment’s painful, embarrassing pause, and no wonder,
because the shock of surprise had certainly been great, but it was
broken by a startling incident.
“Married! Married! Oh, Heaven!” almost shrieked Mae Sweetland,
despairingly, as she threw up her arms in the air, then sank
unconscious to the floor.