She was thinking of the bounteous Providence that had given her the man she loved for her husband. She had been on her knees in the early morning, long before Letitia's awakening, breathing out innocent thanksgiving for the happiness that overflowed her fresh young heart. A woman had need to be country–bred, and to have been reared in the narrow circle of a happy home, to feel as Belinda Lawford felt. Such love as hers is only given to bright and innocent spirits, untarnished even by the knowledge of sin.
Downstairs Edward Arundel was making a wretched pretence of breakfasting tête–à–tête with his future father–in–law.
The Major had held his peace as to the unlooked–for visitant of the past night. He had given particular orders that no stranger should be admitted to the house, and that was all. But being of a naturally frank, not to say loquacious disposition, the weight of this secret was a very terrible burden to the honest half–pay soldier. He ate his dry toast uneasily, looking at the door every now and then, in the perpetual expectation of beholding that barrier burst open by mad Olivia Marchmont.
The breakfast was not a very cheerful meal, therefore. I don't suppose any ante–nuptial breakfast ever is very jovial. There was the state banquet––the wedding breakfast––to be eaten by–and–by; and Mrs. Lawford, attended by all the females of the establishment, was engaged in putting the last touches to the groups of fruit and confectionery, the pyramids of flowers, and that crowning glory, the wedding–cake.
"Remember the Madeira and still Hock are to go round first, and then the sparkling; and tell Gogram to be particular about the corks, Martha," Mrs. Lawford said to her confidential maid, as she gave a nervous last look at the table. "I was at a breakfast once where a champagne–cork hit the bridegroom on the bridge of his nose at the very moment he rose to return thanks; and being a nervous man, poor fellow,––in point of fact, he was a curate, and the bride was the rector's daughter, with two hundred a year of her own,––it quite overcame him, and he didn't get over it all through the breakfast. And now I must run and put on my bonnet."
There was nothing but putting on bonnets, and pinning lace–shawls, and wild outcries for hair–pins, and interchanging of little feminine services, upon the bedroom floor for the next half–hour.
Major Lawford walked up and down the hall, putting on his white gloves, which were too large for him,––elderly men's white gloves always are too large for them,––and watching the door of the citadel. Olivia must pass over a father's body, the old soldier thought, before she should annoy Belinda on her bridal morning.
By–and–by the carriages came round to the door. The girl bridesmaids came crowding down the stairs, hustling each other's crisped garments, and disputing a little in a sisterly fashion; then Letitia Arundel, with nine rustling flounces of white silk ebbing and flowing and surging about her, and with a pleased simper upon her face; and then followed Mrs. Arundel, stately in silver–grey moire, and Mrs. Lawford, in violet silk––until the hall was a show of bonnets and bouquets and muslin.
And last of all, Belinda Lawford, robed in cloudlike garments of spotless lace, with bridal flowers trembling round her hair, came slowly down the broad old–fashioned staircase, to see her lover loitering in the hall below.
He looked very grave; but he greeted his bride with a tender smile. He loved her, but he could not forget. Even upon this, his wedding–day, the haunting shadow of the past was with him: not to be shaken off.