“You shall have all the physicians in Venice,” said the silent housekeeper, as she saw how sick the girl was growing, “and the best nurse in all Italy, rather than die so young.”
But it all availed nothing; she was dying. Aunt Emelie rode over in her own beautiful carriage to take her back to the vineyard, but she did not go. All the long winter she looked from the high, arched windows, and when the warm spring air stole in through the rich, soft curtains, the light reburned in her eyes, and she felt her strength returning. Then they thought she would soon be well, and even she herself was for a short time deceived.
But another subject was now uppermost in their minds. Christa was to leave them for the vinter’s home. She was married in the dim old cathedral, and a long train of attendants swept gaily out, for it was grand to be married beneath the roof-tree of the young Lord Etheredge, no one but Arabel knowing that the fortress was the bandit’s hiding-place, and she, like a discreet girl, kept her own counsel, and allowed them all to live in blissful ignorance.
Then Arabel was wedded, too, with lilies in her jeweled bouquet-holder, and knots of pearls in her long golden brown curls; with a long embroidered veil floating round her slight form, and her heavy blonde sleeves caught up with pearls upon the shoulders of her satin spencer. Luella kissed her tenderly, as a mother would a happy child, then passed her hands over her smooth, dancing curls, and smiled to see them roll up again.
“I know I look pretty, Lu,” Arabel said; “for when we stood together by the statues, just now, Claud said, Luella was a perfect representation of pride perfectly subdued; but Bel was a Diana when moving, and a Madonna when still.”
Luella only smiled at her sister’s words. She knew Arabel was not vain, and she had no fears for the future when her easy-chair was placed in the large cathedral to witness the brilliant bridal. “Have I no sister now?” she asked, half sadly, half playfully, as Arabel danced by her, all radiant in her glorious beauty.
“Certainly,” answered a manly voice beside her; “she does not love the old friend less, but loves the new one more.”
Luella turned quickly, and met a pair of searching blue eyes fixed upon her beautiful face. “I beg pardon, lady,” said the man, in a slightly confused tone, “I thought I was a stranger here, but I believe we have met before.”
“It may be,” said Luella, thoughtfully; “your voice is familiar, but your looks I have forgotton.” Then suddenly remembering herself, she added, “Were you ever at Orton Village vineyard?”
The puzzled look left his face, as he replied, “So we are not entirely unacquainted. May I ask how you succeeded in the work you was engaged in when we last met?”