"To feel that we adore
With such refined excess,
That though the heart would burst with more,
We could not live with less."
MOORE.
Fair rose the morn of the day which was to unite the destinies of
Miles Arundel and of Eveline Dunning, as if to make some amends for
the clouds which had attended the progress of their affection.
With a tear in her eye, and smiles in the dimples of her plump cheeks,
Dame Spikeman looked on the adorning of the lady for the marriage
ceremony, by the cunning fingers of Prudence Rix. She thought, as she
gazed on the fair, young face, of her own maiden beauty, of the timid
happiness that palpitated in her bosom on her wedding-day, of the
dress that heightened her charms, and (shall I so soon acknowledge
it?) of what would be becoming for herself on a like occasion, wherein
she was to bear a principal part, and the too-fascinating Master Prout
another. Let not the solemn pretender to decorum, who, in proportion
to his demureness, is apt to be worse than others, with owlish visage
quote, "frailty, thy name is woman," or, "e'er those shoes were old,"
or whatever musty apothegms besides, as stale and senseless. The name
of Frailty is no more woman than man, and old shoes have no business
at weddings. Stand aside O censorious reader, (I desire not thy
acquaintance,) while I whisper to both maid and widow, what, probably,
they have often pondered--that life is short, and that in Heaven they
neither marry nor are given in marriage.
"Bless thy sweet face!" said the dame. ("Pull down the stomacher a
little, Prudence; an' it had been a thought longer it were better.)
Ne'er saw I so lovely a bride."
"It is the latest London fashion," muttered Prudence, "that hath come
to these outlandish parts, where, thank the Lord, our stay will not be
much longer than the stomacher."
"What is the girl chattering about?" said the dame. "Why, Prudence
Pert, thou wilt tear the beautiful satin with thine impatience."
"You have already made me prick my fingers three times, dame,"
answered the waiting-maid, pettishly. "I never could dress my young
lady aright, when I was talked to. There! O dear! you have made me cut
a ribbon in the wrong place!"
"Did ever one see the like!" exclaimed the widow, as, with a jerk of
the petulant Prudence, a few stitches now gave way. "Why, minx, thou
art as much flustrated as if thou wert to be married thyself."
"I know somebody, I guess," said the girl, in so low a tone as to be
heard only by her mistress, close to whose ear was her mouth, "who
would like to be flustrated in that manner."
Eveline could not restrain her smiles at the impertinence of her maid,
and her gaiety seemed to please the good dame.
"Thou art a sensible child, Eveline," she said. "Now have I known many
a wedding, and generally there are quite as many tears as smiles at
them. I like not that, exactly, though I believe I was as great a
simpleton as most, when I mar--(here the dame decorously put her
handkerchief to her eyes to receive the tears which she did not
shed)--when I--; but I must not think of my sorrow, when thy happiness
is just commencing." (Dame Spikeman wiped her eyes, and went on more
composedly.) "There is nothing thou hast cause to fear, and thou wilt
soon get used to it. But, who is to be thy bridesmaid?"
"It was my intent to have had little Neebin," replied the young lady.
"It would have sounded so prettily in England to say that an Indian
Princess stood up with me, for Miles says that she is the sister of a
great king--of Waqua--; thou dost recollect him, Prudence?"
"The funny salvage," said the girl, "who mistook a painting for a live
man. But to think of the like of the sister of an Indian, though he be
a handsome fellow, going to the 'menial halter with my mistress!" she
added, tossing her head.
"The danger is past, Prudence," said Eveline, "for Miles tells me she
has run away from the Governor's, and was last seen in the woods with
one of her brother's Paniese, as the savages call their greatest
warriors, Town--, Town--, I forget his name, but they were going in
the direction of their own country."
"Toweringantic was the salvage's name," said Prudence. "I remember it
very well, because it sounds so like English."
"That is it not precisely," said the young lady, with a smile; "but it
matters not about the name. Our little Princess has fled to her home,
and I am left without a bridesmaid."
"The ungrateful heathen!" exclaimed the dame. "Only to think of her
deserting the comfortable house of our right worshipful Governor, and
instruction in the Christian graces by godly Master Phillips, for the
smoky wigwams and powawing of the Indians. The girl, I am sure, will
come to no good, and I will never trust one of these Canaanites
again."
"Nay; but dame," said Eveline, "I rejoice that she escaped. I did much
pity her in her captivity, for she seemed to me like a wild bird, that
hath all its life been accustomed to fly in the air, which had been
caught and put into a cage, where it sits constantly with moping head
and drooping wings, forgetful of the songs which made its woodland
home so sweet."
"I did never like to disagree in opinion with thee, Eveline," said the
dame, "and leastwise would I do so, of all days in the year, on thy
wedding-day; so have it as thou wilt. For thy sweet sake, whom I am so
soon to lose, I could find it in my heart to be pleased at anything
the little savage might do, were she twenty times a heathen Amalakite
or Jebusite."
"Dame," said Eveline, kissing her comely cheek, "how shall I ever be
able to repay thy motherly kindness? O, wherever I may be, and
whatever my lot, I will ever think of thee as my second mother."
"Dear child," replied the dame, moved to tears, which flowed with
womanly facility, "never had mother a sweeter and more loving daughter
than thou hast been to me. Hast thou not done more than most
daughters, in giving me all the property that remains to thee here?"
"Speak not of it, dame," answered Eveline, "though it is Miles' gift,
for he desired me to give it thee."
"Oh! dame, do not disturb my young lady more, for if you get her
crying, think how her eyes would look," here interposed Prudence, very
sensibly.
"It is time that I were attending to my own apparelling, which, in
looking at thee, I quite forgot," said the widow, rising, and leaving
the apartment.
The marriage, which took place at the house of the Governor, was
private, and attended only by some of the principal personages of the
colony and their families. Besides the Knight of the Golden Melice,
Sir Richard Saltonstall, who was to sail in the same ship with the
young people, came with his two daughters, as did also Master Increase
Nowell, and Master Bradstreet. No minister was present, the order
resenting, it may be, in a quiet way, an invasion of their
prerogative, which excluded them from business of this sort; but in
the solemn and graceful manner in which the accomplished Winthrop
performed the ceremony, no one noticed any deficiency, not even
Eveline herself, who, indeed, was thinking of other matters. Winthrop
concluded his part with a little speech, in which he reminded the
young couple of the new duties they had assumed, and of the loving
mystery whereby two souls were united into one, like two brooks,
which, pouring each into the other their bright waters, flow on,
inseparably joined, to the ocean of eternity. Something he said, too,
of the blessedness of a true faith, as a crowning glory, without which
the world was but an unprofitable desert.
Scarcely had the congratulations which followed the sweet voice of the
Governor ceased, when a stranger, an honored friend of Master
Bradstreet, and who had come with him, stepped forward, and saluting
Arundel by the title of the Earl of Cliffmere, informed him that he
had matters of importance to communicate.
"I had waited upon you, my lord, before," he said, "even upon the
instant of my arrival, had I known where to find you; but I suspected
you not under your assumed name."
"I welcome you," said the Earl, advancing and taking the stranger's
hand, "I welcome you, Master Hatherly, to the new world, which I this
day leave, probably forever. As for thy news, I think thou art
anticipated: I am informed by letters brought by the vessel wherein
you came, that my father and eldest brother are no more, and that the
coronet which I would willingly place upon their living brows, alas,
is mine. Wonderful is the drama of life. I abandoned rank and
fortune," he added, looking with eyes swimming in love upon his wife,
"to seek that without which they possessed no value. They have pursued
me across the sea, and, besides, I have obtained my dearest treasure."
The astonished Eveline hid her face in the bosom of her husband, while
tears of happiness fell fast. Bewildered, amazed at the discovery of
the rank of her lover, she knew not what to say; but amid all her
confusion, prevailed triumphantly a sense of sparkling joy, of full
contentment, and of radiant hope.
"Why should I conceal from you, noble Winthrop, from you, my valued
friend, Sir Christopher, or from any of you, my other friends, with
whom I would leave no unsatisfactory remembrance of myself, the little
romance that brought me among you," continued the Earl. "Know, that a
second son of the deceased Earl of Cliffmere, I wooed, in the
character of an humble painter, the sweet daughter of Edmund Dunning.
He aspired higher than to unite the destinies of his only child with
those of an unknown artist, and looked coldly on my suit. He left
England with her, and I, unable to endure the pangs of separation,
desired to follow. My mother knew of my attachment from the beginning,
and to my entreaties yielded her acquiescence to my desires, for she
loved me greatly, and had informed herself of the worth of her to whom
I had given my heart, but required me to wait for the permission of my
father (absent at the time on the continent) before I followed Eveline
to this new world. That permission I received, and straightway
departed. Still I continued to conceal my true name and station from
even Eveline herself, for a reason, perhaps, more romantic than
rational; for, with selfish jealousy, I chose to be loved for my own
sake, nor did I mean my secret should be revealed until I had
presented my wife to my parents,--but the curtain has been
unexpectedly lifted, and ye know all."
"I congratulate you, my lord," said Winthrop, "and will venture to do
so also in the name of all present, upon the auspicious termination of
your fortunes among us, and only lament that so little time is left us
to express our respect. When returned to our dear mother England, from
whose bosom we are self-banished, yet whom, with filial reverence, we
love, we trust that you will not forget your brethren in the
wilderness. It is upon the far-seeing judgment of those in high
places, as well as upon the zeal of the people, [all under God,] that
we rely to assist us in extending the material and earthly power of
our country, as well as in spreading the doctrines of true religion."
"Be sure, sir," answered the Earl, "that I will endeavor to do my duty
toward you according to my honest convictions. And now, Eveline, bid
farewell. The favoring breeze is bellying in the half unfurled sails,
gallant Captain Sparhawk is impatient, and we must away."
Lady Eveline fell upon the neck of the weeping Dame Spikeman, and
after kissing her repeatedly, exchanged farewells with those around
her, [as did all about to depart,] and then, accompanied by a numerous
train, the passengers proceeded to the ship, whither the Lady
Geraldine had preceded them, and where, also, they found Philip Joy.
The sails were cast off from the yards and hoisted home; the fair wind
gracefully curved the canvas, and the good ship, with silver waves
breaking at her prow, and a stream of light following in her wake,
gallantly stood down the bay.