Mercedes thought of those days, and the image of her father arose before her vividly. She sat by the window to think of him with loving tenderness and ever living regret.
“But, mon Dieu, mademoiselle,” said Madame Halier, coming in, “why don't you come? Miss Carlota is waiting to begin getting your things ready.”
“I beg pardon; I had forgotten,” said Mercedes, rousing herself from her reverie. Carlota, Rosario and Alice now came in, and soon the contents of the wardrobe were distributed all over the room. Madame Halier was to pack in trunks all Mercedes' things, leaving out only her bridal attire and traveling dress. The madame did her work with pleasure, as she was going with Mercedes, and had been wishing to visit the city of San Francisco for a long time.
Everything was ready. A dispatch came from George saying that Clarence had started; that Gabriel was a little better, and anxious to see Mercedes. This made Doña Josefa feel that it was her imperative duty to send Mercedes to her brother at once.
Mrs. Darrell went to see the priest about going to the rancho to perform the marriage ceremony there. The good man would have preferred that it were solemnized in the church, but, considering that Victoriano could not leave his bed and Doña Josefa was still in very deep mourning, he consented.
There would be no invited guests except the Holmans and Darrells. There would be no bridesmaids either, though there were plenty of young girls that could act as such.
Everett went to town the night before the arrival of the steamer to bring Clarence as soon as he landed, and they came from town so quickly and noiselessly that no one knew when they arrived at the rancho.
The ladies were all in Mercedes' room discussing the wedding outfit and other matters, when it occurred to her to go out and from the veranda look towards the road, as she might perhaps see the carriage in the distance. What was her surprise when, on passing by the parlor door, she saw Everett coming through the gate, and there, right there, where Clarence had stood on that terrible night when he left her, there he stood again, looking at her with those same speaking, glowing, loving eyes. He seemed to her like an apparition, and she uttered an exclamation of surprise, turning very pale and tottering as if about to fall. In an instant he was by her side pressing her to his heart and covering her face with kisses.
Surely this was no ghost. His warm kisses and beating heart spoke of the lover full of life and hope, trembling with the realization of years of longing to hold her thus close, very close in his loving, chaste embrace.
“Mercedes, my own, my sweet wife,” he said, and his voice had so much the same tone and vibration as in that last memorable night, that the rush of sad memories and painful emotions made her for a moment feel confused, bewildered, almost losing consciousness. As her yielding form relaxed in his arms he carried her to the sofa and sat there holding her, scarcely realizing it was not all a dream.