The hope of the success of his contrivance, and the prospect of going out with Harry on the approaching first of September, solaced King Corny, and seemed to keep up his spirits, through all the vexation he felt concerning Connal and this marriage, which evidently was not to his taste. It was to Dora’s, however, and was becoming more evidently so every hour—and soon M. Connal pressed, and Mademoiselle urged, and Dora named—the happy day—and Mademoiselle, in transports, prepared to go to Dublin, with her niece, to choose the wedding-clothes, and, Connal to bespeak the equipages.
Mademoiselle was quick in her operations when dress was in question: the preparations for the delightful journey were soon made—the morning for their departure came—the carriage and horses were sent over the water early—and O’Shane and Harry afterwards accompanied the party in the boat to the other side of the lake, where the carriage waited with the door open. Connal, after handing in Mademoiselle, turned to look for his destined bride—who was taking leave of her father—Harry Ormond standing by. The moment she quitted her father’s embrace, Father Jos poured with both his hands on her head the benedictions of all the saints. Released from Father Jos, Captain Connal hurried her on: Harry held out his hand to her as she passed. “Good bye, Dora—probably I shall never see you again.”
“Oh, Harry!” said she, one touch of natural feeling stopping her short—“Oh, Harry!—Why?” Bursting into tears, she drew her hand from Connal, and gave it to Harry: Harry received the hand openly and cordially, shook it heartily, but took no advantage and no notice of the feelings by which he saw her at that moment agitated.
“Forgive!” she began.
“Good bye, dear Dora. God bless you—may you be as happy—half as happy, as I wish you to be!”
“To be sure she will—happy as the day is long,” said Mademoiselle, leaning out of the carriage: “why will you make her cry, Mr. Ormond, spoiling her eyes at parting? Come in to me—Dora, M. de Connal is waiting to hand you, mon enfant.”
“Is her dressing-box in, and all right?” asked Captain Connal, as he handed Dora into the carriage, who was still weeping.
“Bad compliment to M. de Connal, mon amie. Vrai scandale!” said Mademoiselle, pulling up the glass, while Dora sunk back in the carriage, sobbing without restraint.
“Good morning,” said Connal, who had now mounted his Mr. Ormond, “Adieu, Mr. Ormond—command me in any way you please. Drive on!”