"What does she say?" cried Mrs. Deane and Alice, crowding around her, while with a rueful face she read that Dora would be delighted to meet Uncle Nat at Locust Grove, but could not come quite so soon as they wished to have her.
"You have undoubtedly heard," she wrote, "of Mr. Hastings's approaching marriage, at which I wish to be present. Mrs. Elliott will accompany the bridal party to Rose Hill on Thursday, and she thinks I had better wait and come with her. I shall probably see you at the party.
"Yours in haste, "DORA DEANE."
On Eugenia's mind there was not a shadow of suspicion that Dora Deane, appended to that letter, had ere this ceased to be her cousin's name—that Mr. Hastings, who, together with Uncle Nat, had the Saturday previous gone down to New York, had bent fondly over her as she wrote it for the last time, playfully suggesting that she add to it an H, by way of making a commencement, nor yet that Uncle Nat, with an immense degree of satisfaction in his face, had read the short note, saying as he did so, "We'll cheat 'em, darling, won't we?"
Neither did she dream that last night's moon shone down on Dora Deane, a beautiful, blushing bride, who, with orange blossoms in her shining hair, and the deep love-light in her eye, stood by Mr. Hastings's side and called him her husband. Nothing of all this she knew, and hastily reading the letter, she exclaimed, "Plague on her! a vast deal of difference her being at the wedding would make. But no matter, the old codger will not be here until Saturday night, and there'll be time enough to coax her."
Just then the cards of invitation were left at the door, and in the delightful certainty of knowing that she was really invited, she forgot in a measure everything else. In the evening she was annoyed as usual with a call from Stephen Grey. He had that day received news from home that his father's failure could not long be deferred, and judging Eugenia by himself, he fancied she would sooner marry him now, than after he was the son of a bankrupt. Accordingly he urged her to consent to a private marriage at her mother's on Friday evening, the night following the party.
"There was nothing to be gained by waiting," he said—an opinion in which Eugenia herself concurred, for she feared lest in some way her treachery should be betrayed, and she should lose Stephen Grey, as well as Mr. Hastings.
Still she could hardly bring herself to consent until she had seen Dora, and she replied that she would think of it, and answer him at the party. Thursday morning came, and passed, and about half-past two, Eugenia saw Mr. Hastings's carriage pass on its way to the depot, together with two more, which had been hired to convey the guests to Rose Hill. Seating herself by her chamber window, she waited impatiently for the cars, which came at last, and in a few moments the roll of wheels announced the approach of the bridal party. Very eagerly Eugenia, Alice, and their mother gazed out through the half closed shutters upon the carriage in front, which they knew was Mr. Hastings's.
"There's Mrs. Elliott looking this way. Don't let her see us," whispered Alice, while her mother singled out old Mrs. Hastings for Dora, wondering why she didn't turn that way.
But Eugenia had no eye for any one, save the figure seated next to Mr.
Hastings, and so closely veiled as entirely to hide her features.