Dawn of the Morning

by Grace Livingston Hill

"Where is my brother?" The boy looked older than he had ever seemed to his father as he asked the question.

"I do not know. He has always told us to write to an address in New York, but often he has not answered our letters for weeks. I am afraid there is still more to be told than we know. McCord tells me he was under some sort of a cloud financially out there—some trouble about shares in a gold mine. I'm afraid he has been speculating. He has borrowed a great deal of money from me at one time and another, but he has always told me that he was doing nicely and that some day I should have a handsome return for all I had put in. But if that is the case, why should he have dared to involve a sweet and innocent young girl in it all? Why should he dare do so dreadful a thing!—unless he is under the impression that his first wife is dead. I cannot think that my boy would do this thing!"

The father's head dropped upon his breast, but the brother stood erect with flashing eyes.

"I see it all clearly, Father. He is marrying this girl for her money. He needs money for some of his schemes, and he is afraid to ask you for any more, lest you suspect something. He told me once that she was very rich. I think you are right: my brother is a scoundrel!"

The father groaned aloud.

"But, Father, what are you going to do about it? Have you sent word to Mr. Van Rensselaer? The wedding is set for to-morrow morning. There will be scarcely time to stop the guests from coming."

Outside the window, wheels could be heard on the gravel, as the old coachman drove the family carriage up to the front steps. Pompey, the stable boy, followed, driving the mare in the carryall.

Almost simultaneously came the hurry of ladies' feet down the staircase, and the swish of silken skirts. Betty and Cordelia and Madeleine rushed through the hall and climbed into the carryall, with soft excitement and gentle laughter. This wedding journey was a great event, and they had talked of nothing else for weeks.

"Come, Charles. Come, Father, aren't you ready?" called Betty. "It is high time we started. Mother is all dressed, and Aunt Martha is just tying her bonnet. Charles, Mother wants you to ride in the carriage with her this morning; but you are to change off with us by-and-by, so we'll all have a good look at you."

The father caught his breath and looked helplessly at his son. "I did not realize it was getting so late," he murmured. "Of course the journey must be stopped."