ANOTHER FINE WEDDING.
The marriage of Mr. Fabian Rockharrt and Miss Violet Wood was to be the great event of the winter.
When the approaching wedding was announced in the newspapers of the day, it caused a sensation, I assure you. Mr. Fabian Rockharrt, the eldest son of the renowned millionaire, the confirmed bachelor, for whom "caps" had been "set" for the last twenty-five years; who had flirted with maidens who were now wives of elderly men and mothers of grown-up daughters, and in some cases even grandmothers of growing boys and girls—Mr. Fabian Rockharrt to be won at last by a little wood violet! Preposterous!
The fourteenth of February, Saint Valentine's Day, the Birds' Wedding Day, dawned in that Southern climate like a May day. The snow had vanished weeks before; the ground was warm and moist; the grass was springing; the trees were budding; the wood violets were opening their sweet eyes in sheltered nooks of the forest.
I do not know in what mood Violet Wood arose on that momentous morning of her life—probably in a very pleasant one. Her chaperon confided to an intimate friend that the child was not in love; that she had never been in love in her life, and did not even know what being in love meant; but that she was rather fond of the fine fellow who adored her, flattered her, petted her, promised her everything she wanted, and whose enormous wealth constituted him a sort of magician who could command the riches, the splendors, the luxuries, and all the delights of life! She was full of rapturous anticipations of extravagant enjoyments.
Mr. Fabian Rockharrt, utterly unprincipled as he was, yet had the grace to recognize the purity of the young being whom he was about to make his wife. He was very kind hearted and good humored with every one; he really loved this girl, as he had never loved any one in all his life; and it was his pleasure to indulge her in every wish and whim—even to suggest and create in her mind more wishes and more whims, such as she never could have imagined, so that he might have the joy of gratifying them.
Before starting to church that morning his father called him into the library for a private interview, and lectured him as if he had been a lad of twenty-one, who was about to contract marriage—lectured him on the duties of a husband, of the master of a household and the head of a family.
The arrival of Mr. Clarence from North End, and of Mr. Sylvan from West Point by the same train, to be present at the wedding, interrupted the bridegroom's reflections.
"It is now nine o'clock, boys. You have just time to get your breakfast comfortably and dress yourselves properly before we leave for the church. So look sharp," was the greeting of Mr. Fabian, as he shook hands with his brother and his nephew.
At ten o'clock the carriage containing Mr. Rockharrt, Mrs. Rothsay and Cadet Haught left the house for the church, which they entered by the central front door, from which they were marshaled up the center aisle to their seats in the right hand front pew.
At a quarter past ten the bridegroom, with his best man, Clarence Rockharrt, followed in another very handsome carriage.
They drove around to the side of the church, and passed in through the rector's door to the vestry on the left of the chancel, where they awaited the arrival of the bride's party, and through the open door of which they looked in upon the splendidly decorated and crowded church. An affluence of rare exotic flowers everywhere. The green-houses of the State capital and of three neighboring cities had been laid under contribution by Mr. Fabian, and had yielded up their sweetest treasures for this occasion. Floral arches spanned the center aisle from side to side, all the way up from the door to the chancel; festoons of flowers were looped from the galleries on three sides of the church; wreaths of flowers were wound around the pillars from floor to ceiling; the railing around the chancel was covered with flowers; the pulpit and reading desk were hidden under flowers. The pews were filled with the beauty, fashion, and aristocracy of the capital, and a splendid crowd they formed. Every lady held a rich bouquet; every gentleman wore a rare boutonniere.
Mr. Fabian looked at his watch from moment to moment. We have scarcely ever seen a more impatient bridegroom than Mr. Fabian Rockharrt. But, then, childish disorders go hard with elderly folks. Just as the clock struck eleven, with dramatic punctuality, the gentlemanly white-satin-badged ushers threw open the double doors, and the bride's procession entered. She wore a trained dress of rich white satin, with an overskirt, berthe and veil, all of duchess lace, looped, fastened and festooned here and there and everywhere with orange buds; and a magnificent set of diamonds, consisting of a coronet, necklace, ear-drops, brooch, and bracelets—too much for the little creature—lighting her up like fireworks as she passed under the blaze of the sunlit windows. She carried in her white-gloved hand a bouquet of white wood violets, with her monogram in purple violets in the center. She was leaning on the arm of her guardian, the chief justice, followed by eight bridesmaids.
The bishop, with two other clergymen, in their white vestments, entered and took their places at the altar. The choir struck up Mendelssohn's wedding march. The bride's procession came slowly up under all the floral arches of the center aisle to the floral hedge around the chancel.
The bridegroom came gayly out of the vestry room to meet her, smiling, radiant, tripping as if he had been a slim young lover of twenty, instead of a tall and heavy giant of fifty odd. He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and led her to the altar, where both knelt. The bridesmaids grouped behind them. The best man stood on the groom's right. Old Aaron Rockharrt, Mrs. Rothsay and Cadet Haught came out of their pew and formed a group behind the bridegroom.
Mrs. Chief Justice Pendletime, and a few intimate friends, came out of her pew and grouped behind the bride and her maids.
The rest of the congregation remained in their pews, but stood up, and those in the rear raised on tiptoes and craned their necks to witness the proceedings. As soon as the bridegroom and the bride had knelt under the floral arch, from the high center of which hung a wedding bell of white wood violets, the bishop and his assistants stepped down from the high altar steps, and opened their books.
The rites commenced, and went on without any unusual disturbance of their course until they came to the question:
"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"
Her guardian, the chief justice, a portly, ponderous person, was moving solemnly forward to perform this duty, when—
Old Aaron Rockharrt—not from officiousness, but out of pure simple egotism—took the bride's hand and placed it in that of the groom, saying:
"I do."
You may judge the effect of this. The bride was mildly amazed; the bridegroom was deeply annoyed; the chief justice, the rightful owner of the thunder, was highly offended, and withdrew back in solemn dignity. Meanwhile the ceremony went on to its end. The benediction was pronounced, and congratulations were in order.
The marriage feast was a great success, like most other affairs of the kind. The chief justice had not got over the affront given him at the church, but he could not show resentment in his own house, and on the occasion of his young ward's wedding breakfast. As for Old Aaron Rockharrt, he had not the faintest idea that he had committed any breach of propriety. The deuce, you say! Was it not his own eldest son's wedding? Had he not a right to give away the bride? He never even asked himself the question. He took it for granted as a matter of course. Besides, was not he the greatest man present? And should not he do just as he thought fit? So in utter ignorance of any offense given to any one, the Iron King unbent his stiffness for once, and was very genial to every one, especially to the chief justice, who, secretly offended as he was, could not but respond to this friendliness.
Among the wedding guests around the board was the beautiful widow, Mrs. Bloomingfield. Mrs. Pendletime had requested Mr. Rockharrt to take her to the table, and he had offered her his arm, placing her at the board, and seated himself beside her. The Iron King looked at the lady with more interest than he would have felt had not Mr. Fabian invented a rumor to the effect that he, Aaron Rockharrt, was addressing her.
He looked at the lady on his left critically. Yes; she was very beautiful—very beautiful indeed! And, of course, she would accept him at once if he should offer her his hand! Very beautiful! A tall, finely rounded, radiant blonde, with a suit of warm auburn hair, which she wore in a mass of puffs and coils high on her head; a brilliant, blooming complexion, damask rose cheeks, redder lips, blue eyes, and a pure, fine Roman profile—that means, among the rest, a hooked nose—a very elegant and aristocratic nose indeed, but still a hooked nose. She carried her head high, and her well turned chin a little forward, her lip a little curled. All that meant a high spirit, intolerance of authority, and danger, much danger, to a would-be despot. Oh! very handsome, and very willing to marry the old millionaire. But—no! the Iron King thought not! She would give him too much trouble in the process of subjugation. He would none of her.
Cadet Haught, watching this pair from the opposite side of the table, whispered to his sister, who sat on his right:
"As I live by bread, Cora, there is the aged monarch flirting with the handsome widow! A thing unparalleled in human history. Or is it dreaming I am?"
Cora lifted her languid dark eyes, looked across the table and answered:
"She is trying to flirt with him, I rather fancy."
"Wasted ammunition, eh, Cora?"
"I do not know," replied the young lady.
And then the increasing talk and laughter all around the table rendered any tete-a-tete difficult or impossible. And now began the toast drinking and the speech making. It need not be told how Mr. Rockharrt toasted the bride, how the chief justice responded in behalf of his late ward, how Mr. Fabian toasted the bridesmaids, how Mr. Clarence responded on the part of the young ladies, how with this and that and the other observance of forms, the breakfast came to an end and the bishop gave thanks.
The bride retired to change her dress for a traveling suit of navy blue poplin, with hat and feather to match, and a cashmere wrap. Then came the leave-taking, and the jubilant bridegroom handed his bride into the elegant carriage, while his best man, Clarence, gave the last order.
"To the railway station."
This was the final farewell, for Mr. Fabian had asked as a particular favor that no one of the wedding party should attend them to the depot. Their luggage had been sent on hours before, in charge of the maid and the valet. Half an hour's drive brought them to the station in time to catch the 3:30 train East.
"At last, at last I have you away from all those people and all to myself!" exulted Fabian, as he seated his wife in the corner of the car, and turned the opposite seat that they might have no near fellow passenger. For as yet palace cars were not.
The maid and valet were seated on the opposite side of the car.
The train started.
The speed was swift, yet seemed slow. It was the way train they were on, and it stopped at every little station. They could not have got an express before midnight, and that would have been perilous to their chance of catching the steamer on which their passage to Europe was engaged.
The journey was made without events until about sunset, when the train reached the little mountain station of Edenheights, where it stopped twenty minutes for refreshments.
"What a lovely scene!" said the bride, looking down from the window on her left, into the depths of a small valley lighted up by the last rays of the setting sun streaming through the opening between two wooded hills.
"Yes, dear, lovely, if I can think anything lovely besides yourself," he replied.
"Look, what a sweet cottage that is almost hidden among the trees. An elegant cottage of white freestone built after the Grecian order. How strange, Fabian, to find such a bijou here in this wild, remote section."
"Probably the residence of some well-to-do official connected with our works," said Mr. Fabian, carelessly; then—"Will you come out to the refreshment rooms and have some tea? See, they are on the opposite side of the train."
Violet turned and looked on a very different scene. No wooded and secluded valley with its one lovely cottage, but a row of open saloons and restaurants, crowded and noisy.
"No; I think I will not go in there. It is not pretty. You may send me a cup of tea. I will sit here and enjoy this beautiful valley scene. And oh, Fabian! Look there, coming up the hillside, what a beautiful woman!"
Mr. Fabian looked out and saw and recognized Rose Stillwater and saw that she had recognized him. She was coming directly toward the train.
"Sit here, my love; I will go and bring you some refreshments. Don't attempt to get out, dearest; to do so might be dangerous. I will not be long," he said, hastily, and rising, he hurried after the other passengers out of the car.
But instead of going into the railway restaurant he went back to the rear of the train, placed himself where he stood out of sight of his wife and of all his fellow passengers, yet in full view of the approaching woman.
"What devil brings that serpent here?" he muttered to himself. "I must intercept her. She must not go on board the train. She must not approach my little wood violet. Good heavens, no!"
But the woman turned aside voluntarily from her course to the stationary train and walked directly toward himself.
"Well, Rose," he said, in as pleasant a voice as his perturbation of mind would permit him to use.
"Well, Fabian," she answered.
She was as white and hard as marble; her lips when she ceased to speak were closed tightly, her blue eyes blazed from her hard, white face.
"What brings you here?" he inquired.
"What brings me here, indeed! To see you. Only this morning I heard of your intended business. Only this morning, after the morning train had left. If there had been another train within an hour or two, I should have taken it and gone to the city and should have been in time to stop the wicked wedding."
"What a blessing that there was not! You could not have stopped the marriage. You would only have exposed yourself and made a row."
"Then I should have done that."
"I don't think so. It would not have been like you. You are too cool, too politic to ruin yourself. Come, Rose," looking at his watch, "there are but just sixteen minutes before the train starts. I have just fifteen to give you, because it will take me one minute to reach my seat. Therefore, whatever you have to say, my dear, had better be said at once."
"I have not come here to reproach you, Fabian Rockharrt," she said, fixing him with her eyes.
"That is kind of you at all events."
"No; we reproach a man for carelessness, for thoughtlessness, for forgetfulness; but for baseness, villainy, treachery like yours it is not reproach, it is—"
"Magnanimity or murder! I suppose so. Let it be magnanimity, Rose. I have never done you anything but good since I first met your face, now twenty years ago. You were but sixteen then. You are thirty-six now, and, by Jove! handsomer than ever."
"Thank you; I quite well know that I am. My looking glass, that never flatters, tells me so."
"Then why, in the name of common sense, can you not be happy? Look you, Rose, you have no cause to complain of me. When even in your childhood, you—"
"How dare you throw that up to me!" she exclaimed.
He went on as if he had not heard her.
"Were utterly lost and ruined through the villainy of your first lover—what did I do? I took you up, got a place for you in my father's house as the governess of my niece."
"Well, I worked for my living there, did I not? I gave a fair day's work for a fair day's wages, as your stony old father would say."
"Certainly, you did. But you would not have had an opportunity of doing so in any honest way if it had not been for me."
"How dare you hit me in the teeth with that!"
"Only in self-defense, my Rose."
"It was with an ulterior, a selfish, a wicked end in view. You know it."
"I know, and Heaven knows that I served you from pure benevolence and from no other motive. Gracious goodness! why, I was over head and ears in love with another woman at that time. But you, Rose, you made a dead set at me. You did not care for me the least in life, but you cared for wealth and position, and you were bound to have them if you could."
"Coward!" she hissed, "to talk to me in this way."
"I am not finding fault with you the least in the world. You acted naturally on the principles of self-interest and self-preservation. You wanted me to marry you, but I could not do that under the circumstances. By Jove! though, I did more for you than I ever did for any other living woman and with less reward—with no reward at all, in fact. When your time was up at Rockhold I settled an income on you, and afterward, in addition to that, I gave you that beautiful cottage, elegantly furnished from basement to roof. And what did I ever get in return for all that? Flatteries and fair words—nothing more. You were as cold as a stone, Rose."
"I would not give my love upon any promise of marriage, but only for marriage itself."
"And that you know I could not offer you, and you also knew why I could not."
"Poltroon! to reproach me with the great calamity of my childhood."
"I repeat that I do not reproach you at all. I am only stating the facts, for which I do not blame you in the least, though they prevented the possibility of my ever thinking of marriage with you. I gave you a house furnished, land, and an income to insure you the comforts, luxuries, and elegances of life. I did not bargain with you beforehand. I thought surely you would, as you led me to believe that you would, give me love in return for all these. But no. As soon as you were secure in your possessions you turned upon me and said that I should not even visit you at your house without marriage. Now, what have you to complain of?"
"This! that you have broken faith with me!"
"In what way, pray you?"
"You swore that, if you did not marry me, no more would you ever marry any woman."
"If you would love me. Not if you would not. Besides, I had not seen my sweet wood violet then," he added, aggravatingly.
She turned upon him, her eyes flashing blue fire.
"I will be revenged!" she said.
"Be anything you like, my dear, only do not be melodramatic. It's bad form. Come, now, Rose, you have your house and your income. You are still young, and much handsomer than ever. Be happy, my dear. And now I really must leave you and run to the train."
"Go. I will not detain you. I came here only to tell you that I will be revenged. I have told you that and have no more to say."
She turned and went down the hill toward the cottage in the dell.
Mr. Fabian hurried to the train and sprang on board just as it began to move.
"Fabian! Oh, Fabian!" cried the alarmed bride, "you were almost knocked under the wheels!"
"All right, my dear little love. I am safe now," he laughed.
"Where is my tea?"
"Oh, my dear child," exclaimed the conscience-stricken man. "I am so very sorry! But the tea was detestable—perfectly detestable! I could not bring you such stuff. I am so very sorry, Violet, my precious."
"Well, never mind. Bring me a glass of ice water from the cooler."
He obeyed her, and when she had drank, took back the tumbler.
A porter came along and lighted the lamps in the cars, for it was now fast growing dark.
The train sped on.
Our travelers reached Baltimore late at night, changed cars at midnight for New York, and reached that city the next morning in time to secure the passage they had engaged.
At noon they sailed in the Arctic for Liverpool.