The village clock was striking one, and the sound echoed across the waters of Fairy Pond, awakening, in his marshy bed, a sleeping frog, who sent forth upon the warm, still air a musical, plaintive note as Morris bore his bride over the threshold and into the library, where on the hearth a cheerful fire was blazing. He had ordered it kindled there, for he had a fancy ere he slept to see fulfilled the dream he had dreamed so often, of Katy sitting in the chair across the hearth, where he placed her now, himself removing her shawl and hood, then kneeling down before her, with his arm around her waist and his head upon her shoulder, he prayed aloud to the God who had brought her there, asking His blessing upon their future life, and dedicating himself and all he had to his Master's service. It is such prayer which God delights to answer; and a peace, deeper than they had yet known, fell upon that newly-married pair at Linwood.
CHAPTER LVI.
CONCLUSION.
The scene shifts now to New York, where, one week after that wedding in Silverton, Mark and Helen were, and where, too, were Morris and Katy. But not on Madison Square. That house had been sold, and Katy had seen it but once, her tears falling fast as driving slowly by with Morris she gazed at the closed doors and windows of what was once her home, and around which lingered no pleasant memories save that it was the birthplace of Baby Cameron. Once Lieutenant Reynolds had thought to buy it, but Bell said: "No, it would not be quite pleasant for Katy to visit me there, and I mean to have her with me as much as possible," so the house went to strangers, and a less pretentious, but quite as comfortable, one was bought for Bell, so far uptown that Mrs. Cameron pronounced it quite in the country, while Juno wondered how her sister would manage to exist so far from everything, intimating that her visits would be far between, a threat which Lieutenant Bob took quite heroically; indeed, it rather enhanced the value of his pleasant home than otherwise, for Juno was not a favorite, and his equanimity was not likely to be disturbed if she never crossed his threshold. She was throwing bait to Arthur Grey, the man who swore he was forty-five to escape the draft, and who, now that the danger was over, would gladly take back his oath and be forty, as he really was. With the most freezing kiss imaginable, Juno had greeted Katy, calling her "Mrs. Grant," and treating Morris as if he were an entire stranger, instead of the man whom to get she would once have moved both earth and heaven. Mrs. Cameron, too, though glad in her heart that Katy was married, and fully approving of her choice, threw into her manner so much reserve that Katy's intercourse with her was anything but agreeable, and she turned with alacrity to Father Cameron, who had received her with open arms, calling her his daughter, and welcoming Morris as his son, taken in Wilford's stead. "My boy," he frequently called him, showing by his manner how willingly he accepted him as the husband of one whom he really loved as his child. Greatly he wished that they should stay with him while they remained in New York, but Katy preferred going with Helen to Mrs. Banker's, where she would be more quiet, and avoid the bustle and confusion attending the preparations for Bell's wedding. It was to be a grand church affair, and to take place during Easter week, after which the bridal pair were going on to Washington, Fortress Monroe, and, if possible, to Richmond, where Bob had been a prisoner. Everything seemed conspiring to make the occasion a joyful one, for all through the North, from Maine to California, the air was rife with the jubilee songs of victory, and the notes of approaching peace. But, alas! He who holds our country's destiny in His hand changed that song of gladness into a wail of woe, which, echoing through the land, rose up to Heaven in one mighty sob of anguish, as the whole nation bemoaned its loss. Our President was dead!—foully, cruelly murdered!—and New York was in mourning, so black, so profound, that with a shudder Bell Cameron tossed aside the orange wreath and said to her lover: "We will be married at home. I cannot now go to the church, when everything seems so like one great funeral."
And so in Mrs. Cameron's drawing-room there was a quiet wedding one pleasant April morning, and Bell's plain traveling dress was far more in keeping with the gloom which hung over the great city than her gala robes would have been, with a long array of carriages and merry wedding chimes. Westward they went, instead of South, and when our late lamented President was borne back to the prairie of Illinois, they were there to greet the noble dead, and mingle their tears with those who knew and loved him long before the world appreciated his worth.
Softly the May rain falls on Linwood, where the fresh green grass is springing and the early spring flowers blooming, and where Katy, fairest flower of all, stands for a moment in the deep bay window of the library, listening dreamily to the patter on the tin roof overhead, and gazing wistfully down the road, as if watching for some one, then turning, she enters the dining-room and inspects the supper table, shining with silver, and laid for six, for her mother, Aunt Hannah and Aunt Betsy are visiting her this rainy afternoon, while Morris, on his return from North Silverton, where he has gone to see a patient, is to call for Uncle Ephraim, who, in clean linen, checked gingham neck handkerchief and the swallow-tailed coat which has served him for so many years, sits waiting at home, with one kitten in his lap and another on his shoulder.
Linwood is a nice place to visit, and the old ladies enjoy it vastly, especially Aunt Betsy, who never tires of telling what they have "over to Katy's," and whose capeless shaker hangs often on the hall stand, just as it hangs now, while she, good soul, sits in the pleasant parlor, near the blazing fire, and darns the socks for Morris, taking as much pains as if it were a network of fine lace she was weaving, instead of a shocking rent in some luckless heel or toe. Upstairs there is a pleasant room which Katy calls Aunt Betsy's, and in it is the feather bed on which Wilford Cameron once slept, a part of Katy's "setting out," which never found its way to Madison Square. Morris himself did not think much of feathers, but he made no objection when Aunt Betsy insisted on sending over the bed kept for so many years, and only smiled a droll kind of smile when he one morning met it coming up the walk in the wheelbarrow which Uncle Ephraim trundled.
Morris and his young wife were very happy together, and Katy found the hours of his absence very long, especially when she was left alone. Even to-day, with her aunts and mother, the time drags heavily, and she looks more than once from the bay window, until at last Brownie's head is seen over the hill, and a few moments after Morris' arm is around her shoulders, and her lips are upturned for the kiss he gives as he leads her into the house out of the chill, damp air, chiding her gently for exposing herself to the rain, and placing in her hand three letters, which she does not open until the cozy tea is over and her family friends have gone. Then, while her husband looks over his evening paper, she breaks the seals, one by one, reading first the letter from "Mrs. Bob Reynolds," who has returned from the West, and who is in the full glory of her bridal calls.