"Ah! you do not understand," she cried, half-laughing, half in tears. "I am Victoire. Maurice is not a bad man—no, no, you must not call him so. He is my husband—ah me, this very day. Your sweet, angel wife, she help us—it was her own good pastor marry us this day. It was your wife who kept it secret—because, you see, I was in the convent—and I run away. I run away and came across the sea to wait for Maurice—that is it, because we love each other so. He was my cousin. Come; your sweet, pretty wife said we should have a wedding-party, and surprise them all. Come; we must go down. Ah me! I tremble so, to think of it!"
The pretty creature, all childish animation, pushed him back with eager gesture, to the chamber he had left in such a tumult. An infant could have led him, the reaction had left him so unresisting. Maurice met him at the threshold, saying, gravely:
"I forgive your too hasty words, Leger. It was foolish of me to try to keep my little plan a secret from you; but I thought the surprise would be pleasant. In five moments I can tell you all that is now necessary with regard to Victoire. She is my cousin once removed. Her mother's family live in Paris. When I went to see them, Victoire was at school in a convent. Her mother was extremely religious, and, having married two daughters comfortably, had resolved that this one should enter a nunnery. She gave me permission to call upon my cousin at the convent. I did so. Notwithstanding the icy presence of the lady-superior, we contrived to fall in love with each other. Look at her, Leger, and you will not wonder! I went back and proposed to my aunt for her daughter's hand. She rejected the idea. I could not soften her. Of course, the more I was opposed, the more passionate became my resolution. I contrived to correspond with Victoire; I laid a plan for her to escape from the convent, and take passage in the vessel which was to sail the month before I left. This I did to avert suspicion and pursuit. Of course if they saw me still in Paris, they would know she had not fled with me; and if they looked for her in connection with me at all, they would confine their search to the city. She accomplished her flight in safety; the captain of the vessel, a friend of mine, took her in charge. Not wishing to send her to my own family (knowing they would oppose the match bitterly, and probably return her to her mother), I bethought me of Annie St. John, the woman of all my acquaintance I most respected and admired, and I gave Victoire letters to her in which I begged her to take charge of my poor little blossom and keep our secret in her own breast until I arrived, and our marriage was safely consummated. She found the lady married, but she had heard me speak of you too often not to feel the same confidence in her as before. She came to your house with her letters, and her poor little lonely heart frightened and trembling; but she was not willing Mrs. Carollyn should even tell you her story, which was a little foolish. Mrs. Carollyn obtained board for her with the same lady in whose family she herself resided before her marriage, keeping watch and ward over her until I arrived to relieve her of the charge. She thought it a pretty plan to give us a wedding-party. With the sanction of her presence and approval, your pastor married us privately this afternoon. And now we are ready to face the whole curious, condemnatory, applaudatory and astonished world, are we not, little girl?" And with a look of tender fondness Maurice turned to the young creature, shy but happy, clinging to his arm. "Come, Dr. and Mrs. Carollyn, give us the support of your countenance through this trying ordeal."
Leger offered his arm to his wife. She did not take it, but walked by his side, with a strange luster in her pale face—a fixed, resolute expression, that did not change through the evening. With admirable dignity she introduced the bride and bridegroom to the surprised assemblage, his own relatives included.
The supper was a marvel of costly luxury. It was late when the dancers tired, the music faltered, and the house was gradually left to solitude. Mr. and Mrs. Gurnell had been previously invited to spend a week with their hostess, and their chamber awaited them. Mrs. Carollyn left them at its door with a pleasant good-night.
When the Doctor knocked at his wife's door, his heart drenched in tears of humble regret, she did not respond to the summons, and he retired to await the subsiding of her just displeasure.
But when she was summoned to the late breakfast, her room was found empty. Nothing was disturbed. The blue velvet dress lay on the bed. A traveling-dress and bonnet was gone from the wardrobe. The casket of pearls was on the bureau. Of all her wealth she had taken nothing but a sum of money—amounting to a few hundred dollars, which had come in from her property—and her wedding-ring. Since she was a wife, and might possibly some time become a mother, she had kept her wedding-ring—and, yes, her marriage-certificate. One of the servants said he had heard the door open and close, very early in the morning, but he was very sleepy, from having been up so late, and had paid no attention to it.
And from that time, for weary, heart-withering years, Dr. Carollyn obtained no clue to the fate of his wife.