“That change will never come to us, precious one. Love shall be tenderly nursed; it will not flourish under coldness or inconstancy. It is too tender a plant; only the ruder, coarser vegetation can outlive the cold atmosphere of the frigid zones. With our love, precious one, there shall be no winter. Can you not trust me?”
“Trust you? With all my heart, with all my soul I trust you. You know everything about love and the mysteries of life; but one thing I want to say. I want you to know all about me, dear one. I care nothing about love except as we know it and feel it to-night. If Fate ever cheats us of this, let us not live together and play that the dream still remains. It would be a mockery that would kill me. I am strangely moved to-night. With all my happiness, the thought will come that you will change—that I shall not have the power to keep the freshness of your love.”
“I defy augury, precious one. You are not quite well to-night. I am sure of this, or I should be pained. If I change, it will not be your fault. You are perfect. No one could love with so much infinite tenderness as my darling. If I ever love you less, it will be because I have grown unworthy of you, which the gods forbid. In a week—one short week—and you will be mine, not more surely than you are now, but openly in the eyes of the world.”
Dr. Delano was to leave in the early train, and it was decided to bid good-bye in the old parlor, where the fire was burning low, for they had sat late, forgetting how cold the room had become. Albert wrapped her tenderly in her shawl, and the parting ceremonies commenced. It is a very long process, as lovers of the Romeo and Juliet type are well aware. They separated a few steps and said good-night, and then rushed together for “one more kiss,” which was only the prelude to one more, and that not the last. To the cold-blooded writers of romance, such a parting calls up the vision of the two polite Chinamen, host and guest, who could not allow themselves to out-do each other in etiquette. At the garden gates of the host, they advanced and saluted, and retreated and advanced again, until night came on, when their friends interfered and dragged them apart!
CHAPTER XX.
CLARA’S WEDDING.
Mrs. Forest was in her element preparing for the “show,” as the doctor called the marriage ceremonies; but Albert won her heart by agreeing with her in everything, orange-blossoms, church, and all. Discussing the matter over for the twentieth time, she reproached her husband for his imbuing Clara with his odd notions, and contrasted them with the love of proper and conventional proceedings, which characterized the future son-in-law.
“I wonder at him,” said the doctor, with some impatience. “He is the only sensible man I ever knew who liked that sort of vulgar show. Men generally submit because it pleases women; but to my eyes a young woman conventionally gotten up as a bride, simply suggests a victim tricked out for sacrifice.”
“How dreadful you are, doctor! You have such monstrous ideas; but I did hope Clara would be sensible.”
“Oh, I’m going to be sensible, mamma dear. Albert is satisfied, and I shall offer no further resistance. I submit even to the orange-blossoms, though I can’t bear their oppressing odor. Papa has had his way about the Unitarian minister, who has no church here, and so I shall escape that part of the show, as papa calls it. There’ll be no kissing the bride either, for that is a vulgar custom, no longer tolerated among refined people. I wonder where the custom came from?”
“It is not easy to say where any custom originated. This one can be traced back to feudal times, when the lord of the manor had the first-fruits of everything, and took the brides home to himself for a time, and the bridegroom was forced to submit.”