Until the day before the wedding, it was suddenly brought to the knowledge of both parties, in the following manner:—
The company assembled at Clifton, consisting of old Mr. Clifton’s brother-in-law and sister, Judge and Mrs. Cabell, of Richmond, with their three daughters and son, Frank Fairfax, Zuleime, and Captain Clifton, had gone over to dine by previous engagement with Mrs. Clifton, of Hardbargain. Carolyn Clifton had been compelled, by a slight headache, to remain at home. And Georgia had chosen to stay to keep her company. The two ladies sat in the dressing-room of Miss Clifton. Carolyn was silent and abstracted, yet her countenance betrayed more of inward joy than she suspected. A great contrast was her fair, placid face, to that of Georgia, dark, and traversed by spasms of pain-like clouds hurling past a stormy sky. But if Carolyn lifted her fair lashes a moment, instantly that dark face cleared, ere its expression could be detected. At length she ventured, in a sweet tone, to say—
“Carolyn, my dear, to-morrow is your wedding-day. And—but—there is something which you ought to know beforehand, and which for weeks past I have been trying to gain courage to tell you.”
“Well, madam?” asked Miss Clifton, slowly lifting her snowy lids.
“I should—that is, I might expose myself to the resentment of all your family by telling you.”
“Then you had best not tell me, madam.”
“And yet you ought to be informed, and must. I should never forgive a friend for keeping such a secret from me.”
A vague fear and tremor seized upon Carolyn Clifton, and kept her silent. The dark lady went on—
“I think the honor, the happiness, even the tranquillity of your married life, depends upon your previous knowledge of this circumstance.”
“Madam—the honor, happiness, and tranquillity of my married life pass into the keeping of my husband, Captain Clifton, and in him I have the utmost confidence,” remarked Carolyn, coldly and proudly, though, alas!—not truly.