The delicious month of May had now come round once more. Nature, awakening to life, put on its wondrous robe of many colors, and the sun in proud consciousness of its power to tempt with the alluring warmth, the flowers concealed in the mystic bosom of Mother Earth, shone with ever increasing fervency. In Central Park Nature's feathered choir poured forth its gay song into the lovely spring air, while the perfumed lilacs lavished their scent upon all who came, caring not whether the dweller in tenements breathed it in greedily, or whether the superior residents of Fifth Avenue ignored it contemptuously.
In the house of the rich manufacturer the perfume of the lilacs was not missed; the most recherche hot-house plants supplanting them in fragrance were artistically grouped on both sides of the great staircase down to the front door, filling all the room with a perfume that bewildered the senses. Servants in livery hastened busily, but noiselessly, about, putting the last touches to the decorations of the parlor for the wedding ceremony to be performed on this day. In the adjoining room a beautiful altar was visible, decked with superb flowers from which festoons of myrtle ran up to a hanging bell of red and white roses.
Carriage after carriage rolled to the door, from which descended fair guests, arrayed in splendid Worth and Felix gowns, while faultlessly dressed gentlemen helped them to alight.
In her room upstairs stood Lucy, in a white dress and gold-embroidered veil, with orange blossoms upon her bosom. Although apparently calm, she was deathly pale, and her heart, whose feelings had been suppressed with so much difficulty, betrayed itself by violent beating. A nameless uneasiness was upon her, almost suffocating her at times. Eugene's fair head and disquieting eyes were before her mind vividly—now—when in an hour's time she would be the bride of another. More than once she was obliged to have recourse to the smelling-bottle which stood upon the dressing-table, in order not to give way—to be strong enough to bear the torture of the ceremony with dignified calmness.
"The shock to my parents—the society in which I move—no, no, there is no retreat for me!" she murmured with decision in answer to her heart's loud insistence. She was marrying George in fulfillment of her parents' wishes and also to escape from her tormenting self. That in making this decision she had buried the ideals of her youth—her life's happiness, no one should ever guess. It was time now to steer boldly forth into the deep sea of matrimony, deprived forever of her life's compass.
Mrs. Denison, in a costly dress, had repeatedly opened the window and gazed with anxious impatience at all the carriages that came from the lower part of the city, but she saw no sign of their own carriage so impatiently awaited. Mr. Denison had gone down town in the morning, promising to be back before noon, and now it was four o'clock.
Disquieting rumors had already begun to circulate to the effect that the great banking house with which their whole fortune was deposited was on an unstable footing, owing to a rapid fall in the stock market.
Mr. Denison had said nothing of this to his wife, although a horrible agitation had taken possession of him, when, upon leaving the house he had told the coachman to drive at full speed to the banking house.