Phædra gave a serious little Methodist wedding, and invited all her favorite brethren and sisters of the church to be present. And the young master loaned his dining-room for the occasion, and invited himself to do the lovers the honor of his personal attendance at the marriage ceremony. And he gave the little bride two testimonials of his friendly consideration—one in the form of a pretty wedding dress, that was gratefully received; the other in the guise of a hearty embrace and kiss, that was not quite so thankfully accepted.
"But now, mommer," whispered little Fannie, in the course of the evening, to Phædra, "Valley's young master has been so very kind and generous to us all, s'pose now he was to make Valley a present of his free papers, for a wedding gift to-night—to surprise us, you know; to see how delighted we'd all be, and to hear what we'd say. I think he might; 'deed, I shouldn't wonder if he did, only for the pleasure of the thing, you know. Should you, mommer?"
Phædra sighed; but, then, not to damp the girl's spirits, she replied: "He may do that some day, honey."
"Something seems to whisper to me that he is thinking of it to-night, mommer! Ah! the Lord send he may! Wouldn't we be happy? Valley would have a place in the same store with me; it would suit him, too; he has so much good taste! And then we could have such a pretty little home of our own! 'Deed, I believe he is thinking about it now. Look at him. I shouldn't be the least surprised to see him call Valley aside, and clap him on the shoulder, and call him 'old fellow,' and tell him he is a free man!"
The girl had read aright the thoughts of the master. Angels, who saw the future, with all the phantoms of its bright or dark possibilities—angels, who loved the goodness latent in his own abused nature—angels were whispering to him: "Make this young couple supremely happy—give him only the common right to himself, into which every creature is justly born—and then rejoice in their exceeding great joy!"
And never had the face of Oswald Waring looked so bright, benignant and happy, as when he, for a moment, entertained this thought.
"But pshaw!" he said to himself, directly. "Am I Don Quixote the younger, that I should be guilty of such a piece of extravagant generosity? Absurd! I really must begin to learn moderation at some time of my life. St. Paul says: 'Let your moderation be known unto all men.'"
Now, what on earth can the angels reply, when the other party quotes Scripture against them? Nothing, of course; and Oswald Waring had no more generous impulses that evening. But oh! if he had only listened to those angel whispers; if he had only realized poor little Fannie's romance; if he had only, for once in his life, yielded to his impulse to commit that mad, rash, extravagant piece of Quixotism, as he called the act which, for a moment, he had dreamed of performing—from what impending anguish, what temptations, crime, and remorse, would they not have been redeemed!