“I wonder who the gentleman is whom we have never seen?” moaned Frank. “It’ll be just my luck—there’ll be a wedding; she’ll be the bride, and I’ll be a shadow, standing back like cold beef alongside of hot turkey.”
And there was yet more wonder with Edward W——’s sisters. But they vowed they’d go even if she had been a bindery girl.
CHAPTER XLIV.
THINE FOREVER!
In front of the finest mansion on Beacon Hill, though the chill of autumn was in the air and a northeast wind came cold from over the bay, an arch of hot-house flowers was erected, covering the entrance to the walk, which led up through a yard ornamented with choice works in marble, to the carved door of the house.
On this arch, in crimson flowers, the word “welcome” was visible.
Inside, servants well—even richly—dressed seemed to flit to and fro, and a lady, young and beautiful, robed for that day as richly as a royal queen, moved to and fro, seeing in person that everything was ready to receive the guests for whom the welcome was meant.
The minister, who had been in that house on a sad, sad day, now stood by this young lady’s side, looking dignified but happy.
The old lawyer and many other friends [were] there, and more came along, as the day wore on, in grand carriages, the elite of the aristocratic old city.
And now the hour—four o’clock—was close at hand. Her carriages had gone to the train to meet the guests who had been invited to come from New York—carriages for all.
And she, who had been all this time flushed and excited, now stood pale and nervous near the door. For a roll and rattle of wheels was heard, and a moment later a whole column of coaches dashed up in front of the house.