They had scarcely seated themselves when the door bell rang, and in a few moments afterward a card was brought in and handed to Mr. Rothsay, who took it and read:
A.B. Crawford.
"Show the judge into the library and say that I will be with him in a few moments," he said to the servant.
"He is one of the judges of the supreme court of the State, dear, and I must go to him. I hope he will not keep me long," said Mr. Rothsay, as he raised the hand of his bride to his lips and then left the room.
With a sigh of intense relief Cora leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
People have been known to die suddenly in their chairs. Why could not she die as she sat there, with her whole head heavy and her whole heart faint, she thought.
She listened--fearfully--for the return of her husband, but he did not come as soon as he had hoped to do; for while she listened the door bell rang again, and another visitor made his appearance, and after a short delay was shown into the library.
Then came another, and still another, and afterward others, until the library must have been half full of callers on the governor-elect.
And presently a large band of musicians halted before the house and began a serenade. They played and sang "Hail to the Chief," "Yankee Doodle," "Hail Columbia," and other popular or national airs.
Mr. Rothsay and his friends went out to see them and thank them, and then their shouts rent the air as they retired from the scene.
The gentlemen re-entered the house and retired to the library, where they resumed their discussion of official business, until another mult.i.tude had gathered before the house and shouts of--
"Hoo-rah-ah ah for Rothsay!" rose to the empyrean.
Neither the governor-elect nor his companions responded in any way to this compliment until loud, disorderly cries for--
"Rothsay!"
"Rothsay!"
"Rothsay!"
constrained them to appear.
The governor-elect was again greeted with thundering cheers. When silence was restored he made a short, pithy address, which was received with rounds of applause at the close of every paragraph.
When the speech was finished, he bowed and withdrew, and the crowd, with a final cheer, dispersed.
Mr. Rothsay retired once more to the library, accompanied by his friends, to renew their discussion.
Cora, in her restlessness of spirit, arose from her seat and walked several times up and down the floor.
Presently, weary of walking, and attracted by the coolness and darkness of the back drawing room, in which the chandeliers had not been lighted, she pa.s.sed between the draped blue satin portieres that divided it from the front room and entered the apartment.
The French windows stood open upon a richly stored flower garden, from which the refreshing fragrance of dewy roses, lilies, violets, cape jasmines, and other aromatic plants was wafted by the westerly breeze.
Cora seated herself upon the sofa between the two low French windows, and waited.
Presently she heard the visitors taking leave.
"The committee will wait on you between ten and eleven to-morrow morning," she heard one gentleman say, as they pa.s.sed out.
Then several "good nights" were uttered, and the guests all departed, and the door was closed.
Cora heard her husband"s quick, eager step as he hurried into the front drawing room, seeking his wife.
She felt her heart sinking, the high nervous tension of her whole frame relaxing. She heard the hall clock strike ten. When the last stroke died away, she heard her husband"s voice calling, softly:
"Cora, love, wife, where are you?"
She could bear no more. The overtasked heart gave way.
When, the next instant, the eager bridegroom pushed aside the satin portieres and entered the apartment, with a flood of light from the room in front, he found his bride had thrown herself down on the Persian rug before the sofa in the wildest anguish and despair and in a paroxysm of pa.s.sionate sobs and tears.
What a sight to meet a newly-made, adoring husband"s eyes on his marriage evening and on the eve of the day of his highest triumph, in love as in ambition!
For one petrified moment he gazed on her, too much amazed to utter a word.
Then suddenly he stooped, raised her as lightly as if she had been a baby, and laid her on the sofa.
"Cora--love--wife! Oh! what is this?" he cried, bending over her.
She did not answer; she could not, for choking sobs and drowning tears.
He knelt beside her, and took her hand, and bent his face to hers, and murmured:
"Oh, my love! my wife! what troubles you?"
She wrenched her hand from his, turned her face from him, buried her head in the cushions of the sofa, and gave way to a fresh storm of anguish.
When she repulsed him in this spasmodic manner, he recoiled as a man might do who had received a sudden blow; but he did not rise from his position, but watched beside her sofa, in great distress of mind, patiently waiting for her to speak and explain.
Gradually her tempest of emotion seemed to be raging itself into the rest of exhaustion. Her sobs and tears grew fainter and fewer; and presently after that she drew out her handkerchief, and raised herself to a sitting position, and began to wipe her wet and tear-stained face and eyes. Though her tears and sobs had ceased, still her bosom heaved convulsively.
He arose and seated himself beside her, put his arm around her, and drew her beautiful black, curled head upon his faithful breast, and bending his face to hers, entreated her to tell him the cause of her grief.
"What is it, dear one? Have you had bad news? A telegram from Rockhold?
Either of the old people had a stroke? Tell me, dear?"
"Nothing--has--happened," she answered, giving each word with a gasp.
"Then what troubles you, dear? Tell me, wife! tell me! I am your husband!" he whispered, smoothing her black hair, and gazing with infinite tenderness on her troubled face.
"Oh, Rule! Rule! Rule!" she moaned, closing her eyes, that could not bear his gaze.
"Tell me, dear," he murmured, gently, continuing to stroke her hair.
"I am--nervous--Rule," she breathed. "I shall get over it--presently.
Give me--a little time," she gasped.