“In the name of Heaven, my dearest child, what is the matter?”
But Zuleime, incapable of reply, looked as if she would sink into the ground.
Mr. Clifton’s first definite thought was that some accident or catastrophe had befallen the bridegroom.
“Good Heaven, Zuleime, what has happened? Where is Archer Clifton? Speak—has he come to any harm?”
Much relieved that her father’s suspicions had fallen out of the true track—yet still considerably shaken, Zuleime replied, in a faltering voice, that Captain Clifton had received orders, and had departed that morning with Lieutenant Fairfax for Winchester, where their regiment was quartered, and that Mrs. Clifton, of Hardbargain, desired to see Mr. Clifton as soon as possible. Without another word—totally unsuspicious that Mrs. Fairfax stood before him—the old man threw himself on horseback, and rode furiously toward Hardbargain.
Mrs. Frank Fairfax, our runaway daughter, and widowed bride, stole to her own little room to weep in secret, a little over her fault, but a great deal over the absence of and the danger about to befall her husband.
Dinner was served without Mr. Clifton, Miss Clifton, Zuleime, and the Misses Cabell. Mrs. Georgia Clifton alone entertained the newly arrived company. This did not occasion remark. Mr. Clifton was known to be absent, and it was customary, as I said before, for the bride and her attendants to be invisible.
In the meantime, Carolyn Clifton sat in her chamber—pride, love, regret, anger, hope, fear—all good and evil passions striving in her soul, or in turn holding the mastery over it. It was drawing near the hour when she should commence her bridal toilet, if indeed any bridal array was to be assumed that evening. Amidst all her keen anxiety, she dreaded lest some one should come in and tell her it was time to dress. What should her proud heart permit her to explain to such a one. She need not have feared interruption, however.
The Misses Cabell, her bridesmaids, it is true, sat together in their chamber very impatiently awaiting a message from the bride—very impatiently, indeed, for after her ceremonious dressing, they had their own very elaborate toilet to make. But they would not enter her dressing-room unsummoned, or at least until they should receive from some member of the family a suggestion that it was now proper to do so. And no one thought or remembered to give them the hint.
Mrs. Georgia Clifton—self-convicted of being the originator of all the great trouble that had befallen, and the greater that was about to befall the house—kept herself as much as possible aloof.