The guests were all assembled. The clergyman was waiting, but still there was no sign of Mr. Denison. An uneasy whisper, an ever-increasing impatience, could be noticed. Mrs. Denison's thin face took on a feverish red. Elmore's father was just about to telephone down town, when, at last the carriage rolled up to the door. The coachman, excited with overdriving, leaped from his seat and opened the carriage door; but he had no sooner cast a glance into the carriage than he uttered a loud cry, and with unsteady footsteps, hastened to Mrs. Denison.
"Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Denison, please don't be alarmed—" he panted in a trembling voice, "The big banking house down town failed this morning—and—it seems—Mr. Denison was so fearfully upset—so fearfully—when he came out of the bank his face was all red—and I heard him say in a low voice that he would have to fail too! Yes—and now—please don't be frightened—he's lying dead in the carriage!"
With a loud shriek, wringing her hands and moaning, Mrs. Denison hastened to the carriage. The gentlemen guests carried Mr. Denison's body, still warm, into the house. "Heart failure," said one to another. The women gathered around Mrs. Denison, who was loudly weeping, and tried to console her. Then one by one they stole away, since it was quite obvious that there would be no more thought of the marriage that day.
Lucy, worn out by weeks of mental agitation, was overcome by the sudden shock of this sad news, and fell back without a word upon the sofa, gliding gently from it to the floor. A beneficent unconsciousness clouded her perceptions. No one had time to care for her; all the servants had been sent right and left to bring medical aid for Mr. Denison. All means of restoration were tried, but failed to bring him back to life. "Apoplexy," said the physicians, and silently left the house.
Meanwhile Lucy lay on the soft carpet without a word or motion. In her dazzling white dress, with the gold-embroidered veil, with the marble paleness on her face, she looked like a sculptured goddess who had fallen from her pedestal.
The last wedding guests, those who had helped to carry Mr. Denison up to his room, had just driven away, sighing and shaking their heads as they discussed the sad event. The stillness of death settled over the house. Suddenly a sound was heard as of soft footsteps drawing near. Then the door of Lucy's boudoir, which had been left ajar, was gently opened. A curly-headed young man with a disturbed countenance appeared upon the threshold, looking right and left with admiring wonder. The front door was still standing open—no one had found time to close it.
Eugene, bringing Lucy's portrait, had thus been able to penetrate unperceived, to the upper story. Hardly able to believe his eyes, he gazed at the fair form in bridal attire lying upon the floor.
Startled and trembling in all his limbs, he was about to close the door he had just opened, when he caught sight of Lucy's face, pale as death, through the veil. Hastily putting down the portrait, he darted to her side, and trembling with intense excitement, caught her cold hands to his heart.
HE GAZED AT THE FAIR FACE IN BRIDAL ATTIRE LYING UPON THE FLOOR