“In a black dress! So I was married in a black dress—a black bombazine and crape dress, at that. The very deepest sort of mourning!” exclaimed Drusilla, in a low tone and with a terrified look.
“Well, my darling, what of that?” smiled Alexander.
“Oh, it is considered a bad omen for any one, though but a guest, to wear a black dress, even a black silk one, to a wedding. And for a bride to be married in black, especially in deep mourning, is the worst of all omens.”
“Omens be—blessed! Are you so superstitious, little one?”
“Ah! who is not? I never met any one in my life who did not believe in this omen.”
“You’ve lived so long in this world, you have! and you’ve met, so many people!” laughed the bridegroom, as he put her into the carriage and seated himself beside her.
“Where am I to drive to, sir, if you please?” inquired the coachman, touching his hat, as he held the door open.
“Are your horses fresh?” demanded Mr. Lyon.
“Quite so, sir.”
“Can they take us to Washington? The distance by the river-road is nine miles, I think.”