“Oh, no, mother! There is not any one whom I like better than Alfred; and he is very kind to me; but I do not want to be married at all.”
“That will come right, my dear. I am sure you would not like to be an old maid; no woman does. Oh, yes, you may think now you would not mind, because you are young; but you would be very miserable afterward, and as Alfred’s wife you will have every comfort. You must not think of anything now but your promise.”
So the preparations went on, and every one was pleased with Mary.
It was to be a quiet wedding. The three bridesmaids—Mary’s girl-friends, the Misses Copeland, Miller, and Whitwell—had arrived on the previous evening, since they all lived some distance from Scourby. Miss Copeland was a tall and graceful young lady who, for some reason or other, appeared ill-tempered and irritable; Miss Miller was quiet and happy; and Miss Whitwell as merry as a cricket.
Dr. Stapleton, a friend of the family, called early, and asked after the health of the bride. “I am now going to see her,” said Mrs. Wythburn; and she went away wearing the bright look of love which makes mothers’ faces so beautiful.
But in a few minutes she came back, looking quite changed. Her face had lost its colour, and she trembled so that she could scarcely walk. She seemed to have become suddenly blind, for although the drawing-room door stood open she appeared to be feeling for the handle.
The only person who observed her was Margaret Miller, who saw at a glance that either Mrs. Wythburn had been taken suddenly ill, or something dreadful had happened. Swiftly and silently Margaret went to her side, and, closing the door behind them, led the shaking women into the dining-room.
“What is the matter, Mrs. Wythburn? I hope nothing is wrong. Where is Mary?”
Mrs. Wythburn tried to speak, but at first no words could be uttered. Margaret was as tender as a daughter. “Don’t be frightened, my dear, whatever it is,” she said. “There is a little mistake, somehow, perhaps. Or a little sudden faintness, which will pass off presently.”
After a time Mrs. Wythburn managed to gasp out a few words. “Margaret, there is great trouble. I do not know what it is. Fetch my husband.”