He bowed slightly, and stood awaiting a reply. The squire jumped from his seat, kicked one pillow to the other end of the room, waved another above his head, and shouted:
"Bless my soul! it"s just what I wanted! Give us your hand, my dear boy.
Solicit her hand! Take it, take it, with all my heart. If she had a dozen of hands, you should have them all."
"I thank you sincerely, Squire Erliston. Believe me, it only needed your consent to our union to fill my cup of _happiness_ to the brim."
His voice was low--almost scornful; and the emphasis upon "happiness"
was bitter, indeed. But the squire, in his delight, neither heeded nor noticed.
"The wedding must come off immediately, my dear fellow. We"ll have a rousing one, and no mistake. I was afraid Liz might run off with some penniless scamp, as Esther did; but now it"s all right. Yes, the sooner the wedding comes off the better. "He who giveth not his daughter in marriage, doeth well; but he who giveth her doeth better," as Solomon ought to know, seeing he had some thousands of "em. Be off now, and arrange with Lizzie the day for the wedding, while I take a sleep. When it"s all over, wake me up. There, go! Mrs. Gower! hallo! Mrs. Gower, I say! come here with the pillows."
Oranmore hurried out, while Mrs. Gower hurried in--he to tell Lizzie of the success of his mission, and she to prepare her master for the arms of Morpheus.
That day fortnight was fixed upon as their marriage-day. The Bishop of P---- was to visit St. Mark"s, and during his advent in the village the nuptials were to be celebrated.
And such a busy place as Sunset Hall became after the important fact was announced! Poor Mrs. Gower lost, perceptibly, fifty pounds of flesh, with running in and out, and up and down stairs. Old carpets and old servants were turned out, and new curtains and French cooks turned in.
Carpets and custards, and ice-creams and Aurora"s screams, and milliners and feathers, and flowers and flounces, and jellies and jams, and upholstery reigned supreme, until the squire swore by all the "fiends in flames" that it was worse than pandemonium, and rushed from the place in despair to seek refuge with Giles Fox, and smoke his pipe in peace at the "Eagle."
Barry Oranmore, finding his bride so busily engaged superintending jewels, and satins, and laces, as to be able to dispense with his services, mounted his horse each day, and seldom returned before night.
And, amid all the bustle and confusion, no one noticed that he grew thinner and paler day after day; nor the deep melancholy filling his dark eyes; nor the bitter, self-scorning look his proud, handsome face ever wore. They knew not how he paced up and down his room, night after night, trying to still the sound of _one_ voice that was ever mournfully calling his name. They knew not that when he quitted the brilliantly-lighted rooms, and plunged into the deep, dark forest, it was to shut out the sight of a sad, reproachful face, that ever haunted him, day and night.
Lizzie was in her glory, flitting about like a bird from morning till night. Such wonderful things as she had manufactured out of white satin and Mechlin lace, and such confusion as she caused--flying through the house, boxing the servants" ears, and lecturing Mrs. Gower and shaking Aurora--who had leave now to yell to her heart"s content--and turning everything topsy-turvy, until the squire brought down his fist with a thump, and declared that though Solomon had said there was a time for everything, neither Solomon, nor any other man, could ever convince him that there was a time allotted for such a racket and rumpus as _that_.
But out of chaos, long ago, was brought forth order; and the "eve before the bridal" everything in Sunset Hall was restored to peace and quietness once more. The rooms were perfectly dazzling with the glitter of new furniture and the blaze of myriads of l.u.s.ters. And such a crowd as on the wedding night filled those splendid rooms! There was Mrs.
Gower, magnificent in brown velvet, preserved for state occasions like the present, with such a miraculous combination of white ribbons and lace on her head. There was the squire, edifying the public generally with copious extracts from Solomon and some that were _not_ from Solomon. There was Mrs. Oranmore, grim and gray as ever, moving like the guilty shadow of a lost soul, through those gorgeous rooms and that glittering crowd, with the miserable feeling at her heart, that her only son was to be offered that night a sacrifice on the altar of her pride and ambition. There was Doctor Wiseman, all legs and arms, as usual, slinking among the guests. There was the bishop, a fat, pompous, oily-looking gentleman, in full canonicals, waiting to tie the Gordian knot.
There was a bustle near the door, a swaying to and fro of the crowd, and the bridal party entered. Every voice was instantaneously hushed, every eye was fixed upon them. How beautiful the bride looked, with her elegant robes and gleaming jewels, her downcast eyes, and rose-flushed cheeks, and half-smiling lips. The eyes of all the gentlemen present were fixed wistfully upon her. And the eyes of the ladies wandered to the bridegroom, with something very like a feeling of awe, as they saw how pale and cold he was looking--how different from any bridegroom they had ever seen before. Were his thoughts wandering to _another_ bridal, in a land beyond the sea, with one for whose blue eyes and golden hair he would _then_ willingly have surrendered fame, and wealth, and ambition? And now, she who had left friends, and home, and country for his sake, was deserted for another. Yet still that unknown, penniless girl was dearer than all the world beside. Well might he look and feel unlike a bridegroom, with but one image filling his heart, but one name on his lips--"_Eveleen! Eveleen!_"
But no one there could read the heart, throbbing so tumultuously beneath that cold, proud exterior. They pa.s.sed through the long rooms--the bishop stood before them--the service began. To _him_ it seemed like the service for the dead--to _her_ it was the most delightful thing in the world. There was fluttering of fans, flirting of perfumed handkerchiefs, smiling lips and eyes, and
"With decorum all things carried; Miss smiled, and blushed, and then was--married."
The ceremony was over, and Lizzie Erliston was Lizzie Erliston no longer.
But just at that moment, when the crowd around were about to press forward to offer their congratulations, a loud, ringing footstep, that sounded as though shod with steel, was heard approaching. A moment more, and an uninvited guest stood among them. The tall, thin, sharp, angular figure of a woman past middle age, with a grim, weird, old-maidenish face; a stiff, rustling dress of iron-gray; a black net cap over her grizzled locks, and a tramp like that of a dragoon, completed the external of this rather unprepossessing figure.
All fell back and made way for her, while a murmur: "Miss Hagar! What brings Miss Hagar here?" pa.s.sed through the room.
She advanced straight to where Lizzie stood, leaning proudly and fondly on the arm of Oranmore, and drawing forth a wreath of mingled cypress and dismal yew, laid it amid the orange blossoms on the head of the bride.
With a shriek of superst.i.tious terror, Lizzie tore the ominous wreath from her head, and flung it on the floor. Heeding not the action, the woman raised her long, gaunt, fleshless arm like an inspired sibyl, and chanted in a voice so wild and dreary, that every heart stood still:
"Oh, bride! woe to thee!
Ere the spring leaves deck the tree, Those locks you now with jewels twine Shall wear this cypress wreath of mine."
Then striding through the awe-struck crowd, she pa.s.sed out and disappeared.
Faint and sick with terror, Lizzie hid her face in the arm that supported her. A moment"s silence ensued, broken by the squire, who came stamping along, exclaiming:
"Hallo! what"s the matter here! Have either of these good people repented of their bargain, already. "Better late than never," as Solomon says."
"It was only my sister Hagar, who came here to predict fortunes, as usual," said Doctor Wiseman, with an uneasy attempt at a laugh, "and succeeded in scaring Miss Lizzie--Mrs. Oranmore, I mean--half out of her wits."
"Pooh! pooh! is that all. Liz, don"t be such a little fool! There goes the music. Let every youngster be off, on penalty of death, to the dancing-room. "Time to dance," as Solomon says, and if it"s not at weddings, I"d like to know when it is. Clear!"
Thus adjured, with a great deal of laughing and chatting, the company dispersed. The folding-doors flew open, and merry feet were soon tripping gayly to the music, and flirting, and laughing, and love-making, and ice-creams were soon at their height, and Lizzie, as she floated airily around the room in the waltz, soon forgot all about Miss Hagar"s prediction. Barry Oranmore, by an effort, shook off his gloom, and laughed with the merriest, and waltzed with his bride, and the pretty bride-maids; and all the time his heart was far away with that haunting shape that had stood by his side all the night.
A month had pa.s.sed away. Their bridal tour had been a short one, and the newly wedded pair had returned to Sunset Hall. And Lizzie was at last beginning to open her eyes, and wonder what ailed her husband. So silent, so absent, so restless, growing more and more so day after day.
His long rides over the hills were now taken alone; and he would only return to lie on a lounge in some darkened room, with his face hidden from view by his long, neglected locks. At first she pouted a little at this; but seeing it produced no effect, she at last concluded to let him have his own way, and she would take hers. So evening after evening, while he lay alone, so still and motionless, in his darkened chamber, Lizzie frequented parties and _soirees_, giving plausible excuses for her husband"s absence, and was the gayest of the gay.
One morning, returning with the gray dawn, from an unusually brilliant _soiree_, she inquired for her husband, and learned that, half an hour before, he had called for his horse and ridden off. This did not surprise her, for it had often happened so before; so, without giving the matter a second thought, she flung herself on her bed, and fell fast asleep.
Half an hour after the sound of many feet, and a confused murmur of many voices below, fell on her ear.
Wondering what it could mean, she raised herself on her elbow to listen, when the door was burst open; and Totty, gray, gasping, horror-stricken, stood before her.
"Totty, what in the name of heaven is the matter!" exclaimed Lizzie, in surprise and alarm.
"Oh, missus! Oh, missus!" were the only words the frightened negress could utter.
"Merciful heaven! what has happened?" exclaimed Lizzie, springing to her feet, in undefined terror. "Totty, Totty, tell me, or I shall go and see."
"Oh, Miss Lizzie! Oh, Miss Lizzie!" cried the girl, falling on her knees, "for de dear Lord"s sake, don"t go. Oh, Miss Lizzie, it"s too drefful to tell! It would kill you!"
With a wild cry, Lizzie s.n.a.t.c.hed her robe from the clinging hands that held it, and fled from the room down the long staircase. There was a crowd round the parlor door; all the servants were collected there, and inside she could see many of the neighbors gathered. She strove to force her way through the throng of appalled servants, who mechanically made way for her to pa.s.s.
"Keep her back--keep her back, I tell you," cried the voice of Dr.
Wiseman, "would you kill her?"
A score of hands were extended to keep her back, but they were too late.
She had entered, and a sight met her eyes that sent the blood curdling with horror to her heart. A wild, terrific shriek rang through the house, as she threw up both arms and fell, in strong convulsions, on the floor.
CHAPTER VIII.
Gipsy.
"A little, wild-eyed, tawny child, A fairy sprite, untamed and wild, Like to no one save herself, A laughing, mocking, gipsy elf."
Year after year glides away, and we wonder vaguely that they can have pa.s.sed. On our way to the grave we may meet many troubles, but time obliterates them all, and we learn to laugh and talk as merrily again as though the gra.s.s was not growing between our face and one we could never love enough. But such is life.
Ten years have pa.s.sed away at St. Mark"s since the close of our last chapter; ten years of dull, tedious monotony. The terrible sight that had met Lizzie Oranmore"s eyes that morning, was the dead form of her young husband. He had been riding along at his usual reckless, headlong pace, and had been thrown from his horse and killed.
Under the greensward in the village church-yard, they laid his world-weary form to rest, with only the name inscribed on the cold, white marble to tell he had ever existed. And no one dreamed of the youthful romance that had darkened all the life of Barry Oranmore. Lying on the still heart, that had once beat so tumultuously, they found the miniature of a fair young face and a long tress of sunny hair. Wondering silently to whom they belonged, good Mrs. Gower laid them aside, little dreaming of what they were one day to discover.