Her wedding-dress of rich white velvet, her large veil of fine lace, her wreath of orange-flowers, and all the accessories of her bridal costume lay out upon the bed. Yet she doubted that she should be called to wear them that night: and she sat still gazing into the fire, listening to the storm, and making no motion towards her toilet.
She looked a beautiful young creature as she sat there, with her graceful form, her perfect features, her pure complexion, her soft blue eyes and pale yellow hair.
Of what was she dreaming as she sat gazing into the fire, and heaving deep, heavy sighs? Surely not only of the storm and the trifling delay of her marriage, for she must have known that it could only be a question of a few hours, and that whoever might stay away, her bridegroom would certainly keep his appointment. What serious subject of thought had she? what possible subject of grief? Idlest with youth, health and beauty, with high birth, great wealth and many accomplishments, about to form the most brilliant marriage of the year, with a gentleman who seemed her equal in all respects, if not her superior in some, about to preside over the most splendid establishment in the city and the grandest old house in the country, and to reign everywhere a queen in society, what imaginable cause of discontent could she have?
Ah, friends! did ever any of these things, in themselves alone, satisfy the hunger of any human heart—make any living creature happy?
The darling daughter, the rich heiress, the beautiful bride elect, sat and sighed and gazed, and gazed and sighed as if her heart would break.
There were secrets in the life of this motherless girl unknown to her nearest relatives, unsuspected by her appointed bridegroom. Of that more hereafter.
She sat there without moving until dark afternoon deepened into black night, and the raging of the storm became terrific. How long she would have sat thus I do not know, for just as the little toy of a clock upon her mantle-piece chimed nine her door opened, and her own maid, Matty, entered the room.
“I told you not to bring lights until I should ring for them,” said Miss Lyon, impatiently turning her head.
“I know, Miss Anna; I didn’t bring no lights. I come to tell you how Marse Alesander has jus’ arroved.”
“He has come—and through all this storm?” exclaimed Anna in a startled voice.