To sit quietly by and hear mother and daughter discuss the man she
loved, was as hard for Bernardine to endure as the pangs of death.
"He is sure to be a worshipful husband," said Miss Margaret. "I always
said love would be a grand passion with Jay. He will love once, and that
will be forever, and to his wife he will be always true."
Poor, hapless Bernardine could have cried aloud as she listened. What
would that proud lady-mother and that haughty sister say if they but
knew how he had tricked her into a sham marriage, and abandoned her then
and there? Oh, would they feel pity for her, or contempt?
The servants, in livery, had taken their posts; everything was in
readiness now to welcome the five hundred guests that were to arrive in
advance of the bridal pair.
In her _boudoir_, the grand old lady-mother, resplendent in ivory-satin,
rare old point lace and diamonds, was viewing herself critically in the
long pier-glass that reached from ceiling to floor. Her daughter
Margaret stood near her, arrayed in satin and tulle, with pearls white
as moonbeams lying on her breast, clasping her white throat and arms,
and twined among the meshes of her dark hair.
The contrast made poor Bernardine look strangely out of place in her
plain gray cashmere dress, with its somber dark ribbons.
"You look quite tired, Miss Moore. I would suggest that you go into the
grounds for a breath of fresh air before the guests arrive. Then I shall
want you here," said Miss Gardiner, noticing how very white and drawn
the girl's face looked.
Oh, how thankful she was to get away from them--away from the sight of
the pomp and the splendor--to cry her heart out, all alone, for a few
moments! With a grateful murmured "Thank you," she stepped from the long
French window out on to the porch and down the private stair-way into
the grounds.
Margaret Gardiner stepped to the window, drew aside the heavy lace
curtains, and watched the dark, slim figure until it was lost to sight
among the grand old oak-trees.
It seemed to Bernardine that she had escaped just in time, for in
another instant she would have cried out with the pain at her heart,
with the awful agony that had taken possession of her.
One by one grand coaches began to roll up the long white road, turn in
at the great stone gate-way, and rattle smartly up the serpentine drive
to the broad porch.
Then they commenced to arrive scores at a time, and the air was filled
with the ringing hoofs of hundreds of horses, the voices of coachmen and
grooms, and the gay sound of laughter.
The din was so great no one heard the solitary little figure among the
trees crying out to Heaven that she had counted beyond her strength in
remaining there to witness the home-coming of the man she loved and his
bride.
Suddenly she heard the sound of her own name.
"Miss Moore! Miss Moore! Where are you?" called one of the maids. "My
lady is asking for you!"
"Tell your mistress I shall be there directly."
"Dear me! what an odd creature that Miss Moore is!" thought the maid, as
she flew back to the house. "Instead of being in the house, enjoying the
music and the grand toilets of the aristocracy that's here to-night,
she's out in the loneliest part of the grounds. But, dear me! what an
amazing goose I am to be sure. She must have a lover with her, and in
that case the grove's a paradise. Too bad my lady was so imperative. I
would have pretended that I couldn't find her--just yet."
Bernardine stooped down, and wetting her handkerchief in the brook,
laved her face with it.
She dared not approach the grand old lady with her face swollen with
tears, as she was sure it must be.
Bernardine found her quite beside herself with excitement.
"I heard the whistle of the incoming train some fifteen minutes ago,
Miss Moore," she said. "My son has reached the station by this time. I
have sent our fastest team down to meet him. He will be here at any
moment. Ah! that is his step I hear now in the corridor! I am trembling
so with excitement that I can hardly stand. Do not leave, Miss Moore. I
may need you in case this meeting is too much for me and I should faint
away in his strong arms."
The footsteps that Bernardine remembered so well came nearer.
She pressed her hand tightly over her heart to still its wild beating.
Bernardine could have cried aloud in her agony; but her white lips
uttered no moan, no sound, even when the door was flung open and a tall,
handsome form sprung over the threshold.
"Where are you, mother?" cried Jay Gardiner. "The room is so dark that I
can not see where you are!"
The next moment the proud, stately old lady was sobbing on the breast of
the son she idolized.
She forgot that in the shadow of the alcove stood her companion; she
forgot the existence of every one save her darling boy, whom she clasped
so joyfully.
Bernardine watched him herself, unseen, her whole heart in her eyes,
like one turned into stone.
His handsome face was pale, even haggard; the dark hair, that waved back
from the broad brow, was the same; but his eyes--those bonny, sunny,
laughing blue eyes--were sadly changed. There was an unhappy look in
them, a restless expression, deepening almost into despair. There was a
story of some kind in his face, a repressed passion and fire, a
something Bernardine could not understand.
"I am not alone, you must remember, mother, dear," he said in his deep,
musical voice. "I have brought some one else for you to welcome. Look up
and greet my wife, mother."
Slowly the grand old lady unwound her arms from about the neck of her
handsome, stalwart son, and turned rather fearfully toward the slender
figure by her side.
At that moment young Mrs. Gardiner took a step forward, which brought
her in the full glow of the lamp, and as Bernardine gazed, her heart
sunk within her.
She saw, as the lovely young stranger threw back her gray silk
traveling-cloak, a slim, beautiful creature, with golden hair, round,
dimpled face, flushed cheeks and lips, and the brightest of blue,
sparkling eyes--a girl who looked like some dazzling picture painted by
some old master, and who had just stepped out of a gilded frame. Her
face was so lovely, that, as Bernardine gazed, her heart grew so heavy
and strained with pain, that she thought it must surely break. _She was
the same girl who had visited her at her humble home._
The grand old lady took the haughty young beauty in her arms, calling
her "daughter," and bidding her welcome to Gardiner Castle, her future
home.
"Ah! no wonder the man I loved deserted me for this beautiful being all
life, all sparkle, all fire," was the thought that rushed through
Bernardine's breaking heart.
Then suddenly the old lady remembered her, and turned to her quickly,
saying:
"Come forward, my dear girl. I wish to present my new companion to my
son and his bride."