Mrs. Barry believed in taking time by the forelock, and, unknown to the young fiancé, she sent an order that very day to New York—an order for a recherché wedding-dress, a traveling costume in all its details, several dresses besides, comprising walking, dinner, and ball dresses, hats and bonnets ad. lib., and a dozen outfits of embroidered lawn and linen underwear. These articles were to be furnished within three weeks.
“They will be as much as she will need until she gets to Paris. I will give her a large check to take with her for a trousseau there. I can afford to be generous as all my money will go to her some day, and as she is marrying so well,” said the old lady to Agnes Walker, feeling very complacent over the happy turn events had taken. She was very fond of the bride-elect from that time forward, and often thought remorsefully of the time when she had locked the girl into the garret.
Cecil Laurens was greatly altered, too, for the better, by his love. He ceased to see a single fault in the gay, young girl whom he had at first condemned. He lavished the whole wealth of his heart upon her, and he could not fail to see through all her shyness that his love was fully returned.
Molly had not known herself capable of such depths of passion as her lover’s devotion roused in her breast. She gave herself up with feverish delight to the happiness of the flying weeks, salving her conscience with the thought that her deception would soon be over—that at the very last she would break off with him even though he would go away from her hating her memory forever.
But day by day the bonds of love grew stronger. That which she thought but a garland of roses strengthened into a chain that held her fast. A mad love made the brave, honest little girl a traitor.
The day that had been set for her marriage dawned, yet she had never spoken the words that were to save Cecil Laurens from wedding a deceiver.
“For I could not break it off without telling him the truth, and that would ruin Louise. And how could I part with him now?” she would sigh to herself when alone, and gradually her love and his made a bond that she could not break through.
“I should die if I were parted from him now,” she sighed. “Of course I know that he would find me out some day, and then I should lose him forever. But I should have a little happiness first. It would not be so terrible to die of grief, having had my day first.”
Then Molly would sob bitterly until she fell asleep upon her tearwet pillow. Truly the love to which she clung so desperately was not all unalloyed pleasure, but perhaps its element of uncertainty made it all the more precious.
They went back to Ferndale, and Mrs. Barry, in the seventh heaven of delight, made preparations on a grand scale for a real old-fashioned country wedding. Invitations were sent out far and near to the friends of the family. A dozen cooks took possession of the kitchen and dining-room. Flowers were ordered from a New York florist. The old lady declared that her niece’s wedding should be the grandest that ever took place in Greenbrier County.