The group had reached the porch and lingered there a moment, waiting for the carriages to draw up. The shadows were all gone from Grantley Mellen's face now; he bent his head and whispered a few words, that made Elizabeth's cheek glow into new beauty. Suddenly her glance wandered towards the crowd on her left—a sudden pallor swept the roses from her cheek—her hand closed convulsively on Mellen's arm; but in an instant, before even he had noticed her agitation, it had passed—she walked on to the carriage graceful and queen-like as ever.
Standing among the throng at which she had cast that one glance, stood the man who had rescued her from danger only a few days before. He was gazing eagerly into the faces of the newly made husband and wife, with an expression upon his features which it was not easy to understand. But after that quick look, Elizabeth never again turned her head, and the stranger shrank back among the crowd and disappeared.
The guests were gathered about the sumptuous table which Mrs. Harrington had prepared, and the fair widow herself, in a dress which would have been youthful even for Elsie, was in a state of flutter and excitement which baffles description.
She was gay and coquettish as a girl of sixteen; but there was enough of real kindliness in her character to make those who knew her forgive these girlish affectations and the little delusion under which she labored—that certain specially-favored people, like herself, never did get beyond eighteen, being so sensitive and fresh of soul, that age never reached them.
I doubt if there ever was a wedding reception that did not prove a somewhat dull affair, and though this was as nearly an exception as possible, Mellen seized the first opportunity to whisper Elizabeth that it was time to prepare for their departure.
"And so I shan't see you for a whole week," said Tom Fuller, ruefully, as he accompanied Elsie out of the room, when she followed Elizabeth up stairs to change her dress. "What shall I do with myself all that time?"
"A whole week!" repeated she, laughing merrily; "it's quite dreadful to contemplate—I only hope you won't die, and put poor Bessie into mourning before the honeymoon is over."
"Oh, you are laughing at me," said Tom, heaving a sigh that was a perfect blast of grief.
"How can you fancy that?" cried Elsie; "I thought I was showing great sympathy."
"You always do laugh at me," urged Tom, "and it's downright cruel! I know I am awkward, and always do the wrong thing at the wrong moment, but you needn't be so hard on a fellow."