And Guy did think again, and his thoughts went across the sea after the beautiful Daisy, and he tried to picture to himself what she must be now that education and culture had set their seal upon her. But always in the picture there was a dark background, where cousin Tom stood sentinel with his bags of gold, and so, with a half unconscious sigh for what "might have been," Guy dug still deeper the grave where, years before, he had buried his love for Daisy, and to make the burial sure this time, so that there should be no future resurrection, he put over the grave a head-stone, on which was written a new hope and a new love, both of which centered in Julia Hamilton.
And so they were engaged, and after that there was no wavering on his part,—no looking back to a past, which seemed like a happy dream, from which there had been a horrible awaking.
He loved Julia at first quietly and sensibly, and loved her more and more as the winter and spring went by, and brought the day when he stood again at the altar, and for the second time took upon him the marriage vow. It was a very quiet wedding, with only a few friends present, and Miss Frances was the bridesmaid, in a gown of silver gray; but Julia's face was bright with the certainty of a happiness long desired; and if in Guy's heart there lingered the odor of other bridal flowers, withered now and dead, and the memory of other marriage bells than those which sent their music on the air that September morning, and if a pair of sunny blue eyes seemed looking into his, he made no sign, and his face wore an expression of perfect content as he took his second bride for better or worse, just as he once had taken little Daisy. In Daisy's case it had proved all for the worse, but now there was a suitableness in the union which boded future happiness, and many a hearty wish for good was sent after the newly-married pair, whose destination was New York.
It was nearly dark when they reached the hotel, and quite dark before dinner was over. Then Julia suddenly remembered that an old friend of hers was boarding in the house, and suggested going to her room.
"I'd send my card," she said, blushingly, "only she would not know me by the new name, so if you do not mind my leaving you a moment, I'll go and find her myself."
Guy did not mind, and Julia went out and left him alone. Scarcely was she gone when he called to mind a letter which had been forwarded to him from Cuylerville, and which he had found awaiting him on his return from, the church that morning. Not thinking it of much consequence, he had thrust it in his pocket and in the excitement forgotten it till now. He had dressed for dinner and worn his wedding-coat, and he took the letter out and looked at it a moment, and wondered whom it was from, as people often wait and wonder, when breaking the seal would settle the matter so soon. It was post-marked in New York, and, felt heavy in his hand, and he opened it at last, and found that the outer envelope inclosed another one, on which his name and address were written in a handwriting once so familiar to him, and the sight of which made him start and breathe heavily for a moment as if the air had suddenly grown thick and burdensome.
It was Daisy's handwriting, which he had never thought to see again; for after his engagement with Julia he had burned every vestige of a correspondence it was sorrow now to remember. One by one, and with a steady hand, he had dropped Daisy's letters into the fire and watched them turning into ashes, and thought how like his love for her they were when nothing remained of them but the thin gray tissue his breath could blow away. The four scraps of the marriage settlement which Daisy had brought him on that night of storm he kept, because they seemed to embody something good and noble in the girl; but the letters she had written him were gone past recall, and he had thought himself cut loose from her forever,—when, lo! there had come to him an awakening to the bitterness of the past in a letter from the once-loved wife, whose delicate handwriting made him grow faint and sick for a moment, as he held the letter in his hand and read:
"Guy Thornton, Esq.,
"Brown Cottage,
"Politeness of Mr. Wilkes. Cuylerville, Mass."
Why had she written, and what had she to say to him? he wondered, and for a moment he felt tempted to tear the letter up and never know what it contained.
Better, perhaps, had he done so,—better for him, and better for the fond new wife whose happiness was so perfect, and whose trust in his love was so strong.