Frederic, however, whose appetite was increasing each day, convinced her to the contrary, and while watching him as he did justice to her viands, the old negress thought to herself, “’Clar for’t, how he does eat. I should know he come from Yankee land. You can allus tell ’em, the way they crams, when they get whar thar is somethin’.”
The news of Frederic’s return spread rapidly, and that night he received calls from several of his neighbors, together with an invitation to Agnes Gibson’s wedding, which was to take place in a few days. In the invitation Alice was included, and though Dinah demurred, saying that “trundle-bed truck or to stay at home,” Alice ventured to differ from her, and at the appointed time went with Frederic to the party, which was splendid in all its parts, having been got up with a direct reference to the newspaper articles which were sure to be published concerning it. Agnes, of course, was charming in white satin, point lace, orange flowers, flowing vail, and all other et ceteras which complete the dress of a fashionable bride. And the bridegroom—poor old man—looked very well in his new suit of broadcloth, even if his knees did shake—not from fear, however, but as one of the guests remarked, “Because it was a way they’d had for several years!” The top of his head was bald, it is true, and his hair as white as snow, but for every silver thread Agnes knew there was a golden eagle in his purse, and this consoled her somewhat, though it did not prevent her from watching jealously to see if any one was talking of the palsied man, her husband. Her expected present from Isabel had never come, and the three fish knives, ranged in a row, looked as if two of them, at least, were rather more ornamental than useful, as did also the four card baskets, and three gold thimbles, which occupied a conspicuous place. To Frederic, Agnes was especially gracious, asking him numberless questions concerning her “dear friend,” and saying “she hoped to meet her in her travels, as they were going North and were intending to spend the Summer at Saratoga, Newport, and Nahant. I thought once you would be taking your bridal tour about this time,” she said to him, when several were standing near.
“I assure you I had no such idea,” was Frederic’s reply, and Agnes continued, “Indeed I supposed you were engaged, of course.”
“Then you supposed wrong,” he answered, glad of this public opportunity to contradict a story he knew had gained a wide circulation. “I esteem Miss Huntington as a friend and distant relative, but I certainly have no intention whatever of making her my wife.”
Frequently, during the evening, he was asked if he had found any clue to Sarah Green or her letter; and as he could in all sincerity reply in the negative, no one guessed that instead of Sarah Green he had found his wife—only, however to lose her again.
“But he would find her,” he said to himself, and as he looked at the ill-matched bride and groom, he could not forebear wishing that it were himself and Marian. He would stay by her now, he thought, and when it grew dark in the parlor instead of suffering her to go away alone and read the fatal letter, he would draw her to his side, and telling her of its contents, would sue for her forgiveness, and offer to her love in return for the fraud imposed upon her.
It was a pleasant picture Frederic drew that night of what his bridal might have been, and so absorbed was he in it that when, as they were going home, Alice with a yawn said to him, “Wasn’t it so tiresome hearing those young folks say such foolish things to each other, and hearing the old ones talk about their servants?” he replied, “why no, child, I spent a most delightful evening.”
“I—don’t—see—how you could,” was the drowsy answer, and in a moment more Alice lay upon the carriage cushions fast asleep!
It was nearly three weeks after this party ere Frederic’s arrangements for leaving Kentucky were entirely completed, and it was not until the latter part of July that he finally started for his now home. The lamentations of the negroes were noisy in the extreme, though far more moderate than they would have been if their master had not said that it was very probable he should return in the Autumn, and merely make Riverside a Summer residence. If he found Marian he should come back, of course, he thought, but he did not deem it best to raise hopes which might never be realized, so he said nothing of her to the blacks who supposed of course she was dead.
The parting between Dinah and Alice was a bitter one, the former hugging the little girl to her bosom and wondering how Marster Frederic ‘spected a child what had never waited on itself even to fotch a drop of water, could get along way off dar whar thar warn’t nary nigger nor nothin’ but a pack o’ low flung Irish. “Order ’em ’round,” she said to Alice, wiping her eyes with her checked apron, “order ’em round jist like they warn’t white. Make ’em think you be somebody. Say your pra’rs evey night—war your white cambric wrappers in the mornin’, and don’t on no count catch any poor folksy’s marners ’mong them Yankees for I shouldn’t get my nateral sleep o’ nights, till you got shet of ’em, and—” lowering her voice, “if so be that you tell any of the quality ’bout us blacks, s’posin you kinder set me ’bove Hetty and them Higginses, bein’ that I the same as nussed you.”