XIX. — THE CEREMONY.
On the threshold we were met by Judge Conway, with a bow and a smile.
He pressed our hands cordially, but with a covert sadness, which I suppose comes to the heart of every father who is about to part with a beloved daughter—to give up his place as it were to another—and then we entered the great drawing-room where a gentleman in a white cravat and black coat awaited us. No other persons were visible.
The great apartment was a charming spectacle, with its brilliant lights and blazing fire. The frescoed walls danced in light shadows; the long curtains were drawn down, completely excluding the March air. Coming in out of the night, this smiling interior was inexpressibly home-like and delightful.
As we entered, the clerical-looking gentleman rose, modestly, and smiled.
“The Reverend Mr. Hope,” said Judge Conway, presenting him. And Mr. Hope, with the same gentle smile upon his lips, advanced and shook hands.
At that name I had seen Mohun suddenly start, and turn pale. Then his head rose quickly, his pallor disappeared, and he said with entire calmness:
“Mr. Hope and myself are old acquaintances, I may even say, old friends.”
To these words Mr. Hope made a gentle and smiling reply; and it was plain that he was very far from connecting the personage before him with the terrible tragedy which had taken place at Fonthill, in December, 1856. What was the origin of this ignorance? Had the worthy man, in his remote parsonage, simply heard of the sudden disappearance of Mohun, the lady, and her brother? Had his solitary life prevented him from hearing the vague rumors and surmises which must have followed that event? This was the simplest explanation, and I believe the correct one. Certain it is that the worthy Mr. Hope received us with smiling cordiality. Doubtless he recalled the past, but was too kind to spread a gloom over Mohun’s feelings by alluding to his loss. In a few moments we were seated, and Judge Conway explained the presence of the parson.
The explanation was simple. Mohun, incessantly engaged on duty, had begged Judge Conway to send a message to the parson of his parish; the parson was absent, leaving his church temporarily in charge of his brother-clergyman, Mr. Hope; thus that gentleman by a strange chance, was about to officiate at Mohun’s second marriage, as he had at his first.
I have explained thus, perhaps tediously, an incident which struck me at the time as most singular. Are there fatalities in this world? The presence of the Reverend Mr. Hope on that night at “Five Forks,” resembled one of those strange coincidences which make us believe in the doctrine of destiny.
Having exchanged compliments with the clergyman, Mohun and I were shown to a dressing-room.
No sooner had the door closed, than I said to Mohun:—
“That is strange, is it not?”
“Singular, indeed,” he replied, calmly, “but I am not averse to this worthy man’s presence, Surry. I have no concealments. I have related my whole life to Judge Conway and Georgia. They both know the circumstances which lead to the conviction that that woman was already married, when she married me—that the proof of her marriage with Darke exists. Judge Conway is a lawyer, and knows that, in legal phraseology, the array of circumstances ‘excludes every other hypothesis;’ thus it is not as an adventurer that my father’s son enters this house: all is known, and I do not shrink from the eye of this good man, who is about to officiate at my marriage.”
“Does he know all?”
“I think not. I had half resolved to tell him. But there is no time now. Let us get ready; the hour is near.”
And Mohun looked at his watch.
“Nine o’clock,” he said. “The ceremony takes place at ten.”
And he rapidly made his toilet. The light fell on a superb-looking cavalier. He was clad in full dress uniform, with the braid and stars of a brigadier-general. The erect figure was clearly defined by the coat, buttoned from chin to waist. Above, rose the proudly-poised head, with the lofty brow, the brilliant black eyes, the dark imperial and mustache, beneath which you saw the firm lips.
We descended to the drawing-room, where Judge Conway and Mr. Hope awaited us.
Fifteen minutes afterward light steps were heard upon the great staircase; the old statesman opened the door, and Miss Georgia Conway entered the apartment, leaning upon the arm of her father.
She was clad in simple white muslin, with a string of pearls in her dark hair; and I have never seen a more exquisite beauty. Her cheeks glowed with fresh roses; a charming smile just parted her lips; and her dark eyes, grand and calm, shone out from the snow-white forehead, from which her black hair was carried back in midnight ripples, ending in profuse curls. It was truly a grande dame whom I gazed at on this night, and, with eyes riveted upon the lovely face, I very nearly lost sight of Miss Virginia, who followed her sister.
I hastened to offer my arm to the modest little flower, and followed Judge Conway, who approached the parson, standing, prayer-book in hand, in the middle of the apartment.
In another instant Mohun was standing beside Miss Georgia, and the ceremony began.
It was not destined to proceed far.
The clergyman had nearly finished the exhortation with which the “form for the solemnization of matrimony,” commences.
All at I once I was certain that I heard steps on the portico, and in the hall of the mansion.
The rest seemed not to hear them, however, and Mr. Hope continued the ceremony.
“Into this holy estate,” he went on, “these two persons present come now to be joined. If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
As he uttered the words the door was suddenly burst open, and Darke entered the apartment with the gray woman.
In the midst of the stupor of astonishment, she advanced straight toward Georgia Conway, twined her arm in that of the young lady, and said quietly:—
“How do you do, cousin? I am Lucretia Conway. Your father is my uncle. I have come to show just cause why you cannot marry General Mohun—my husband!”