"Yes; she has promised me her hand at an early day."

"No doubt. You don't deserve anything better. Beulah scorns you; I see it in her eyes. Marry you! You! Oh, Eugene, she is far too superior to you. You are blind now; but the day will surely come when your charmer will, with her own hand, tear the veil from your eyes, and you will curse your folly. It is of no use to tell you that she is false, heartless, utterly unprincipled; you will not believe it, of course, till you find out her miserable defects yourself. I might thunder warnings in your ears from now till doomsday, and you would not heed me. But whether I live to see it or not, you will bitterly rue your infatuation. You will blush for the name which, as your wife, Antoinette will disgrace. Now leave me."

She pointed to the door, and, too much incensed to reply, he quitted the room with a suppressed oath, slamming the door behind him.

Cornelia went up to her own apartment and, without ringing for her maid, took off the elegant dress she wore, and threw her dressing gown round her. The diamond hairpins glowed like coals of fire in her black braids, mocking the gray, bloodless face, and look of wretchedness. She took out the jewels, laid them on her lap, and suffered the locks of hair to fall upon her shoulders. Then great hot tears rolled over her face; heavy sobs convulsed her frame, and, bowing down her head, the haughty heiress wept pa.s.sionately. Eugene was the only being she really loved; for years her hopes and pride had centered in him. Now down the long vista of coming time she looked and saw him staggering on to ruin and disgrace. She knew her own life would at best be short, and felt that now it had lost its only interest, and she was ready to sink to her last rest rather than witness his future career. This was the first time she had wept since the days of early childhood; but she calmed the fearful struggle in her heart, and, toward dawn, fell asleep, with a repulsive sneer on her lips. The ensuing day she was forced to listen to the complacent comments of her parents, who were well pleased with the alliance. Antoinette was to return home immediately, the marriage would take place in June, and they were all to spend the summer at the North; after which it was suggested that the young couple should reside with Mr. Graham. Cornelia was standing apart when her mother made this proposition, and, turning sharply toward the members of her family, the daughter exclaimed:

"Never! You all know that this match is utterly odious to me. Let Eugene have a house of his own; I have no mind to have Antoinette longer in my home. Nay, father; it will not be for a great while.

When I am gone they can come; I rather think I shall not long be in their way. While I do live, let me be quiet, will you?"

Her burning yet sunken eyes ran over the group.

Eugene sprang up and left the room; Antoinette put her embroidered handkerchief to dry eyes; Mrs. Graham looked distressed; and her husband wiped his spectacles. But the mist was in his eyes, and presently large drops fell over his cheeks as he looked at the face and form of his only child.

Cornelia saw his emotion; the great floodgate of her heart seemed suddenly lifted. She pa.s.sed her white fingers over his gray hair, and murmured brokenly:

"My father--my father! I have been a care and a sorrow to you all my life; I am very wayward and exacting, but bear with your poor child; my days are numbered. Father, when my proud head lies low in the silent grave, then give others my place."

He took her in his arms and kissed her hollow cheek, saying tenderly:

"My darling, you break my heart. Have you ever been denied a wish?

What is there that I can do to make you happy?"

"Give Eugene a house of his own, and let me be at peace in my home.

Will you do this for me?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, my father."

Disengaging his clasping arm, she left them.

A few days after the party at her house, Mrs. Asbury returned home from a visit to the asylum (of which she had recently been elected a manager). In pa.s.sing the parlor door she heard suppressed voices, looked in, and, perceiving Mr. Vincent seated near Georgia, retired, without speaking, to her own room. Securing the door, she sank on her knees, and besought an all-wise G.o.d to direct and aid her in her course of duty. The time had arrived when she must hazard everything to save her child from an ill-fated marriage; and though the mother's heart bled she was firm in her resolve. When Mr. Vincent took leave, and Georgia had returned to her room, Mrs. Asbury sought her. She found her moody and disposed to evade her questions.

Pa.s.sing her arm round her, she said very gently:

"My dear child, let there be perfect confidence between us. Am I not more interested in your happiness than anyone else? My child, what has estranged you of late?"

Georgia made no reply.

"What, but my love for you and anxiety for your happiness, could induce me to object to your receiving Mr. Vincent's attentions?"

"You are prejudiced against him, and always were!"

"I judge the young man only from his conduct. You know--you are obliged to know, that he is recklessly dissipated, selfish, and immoral."

"He is no worse than other young men. I know very few who are not quite as wild as he is. Beside, he has promised to sign the temperance pledge if I will marry him."

"My child, you pain me beyond expression. Does the depravity which prevails here sanction Vincent's dissipation? Oh, Georgia, has a.s.sociation deprived you of horror of vice? Can you be satisfied because others are quite as degraded? He does not mean what he promises; it is merely to deceive you. His intemperate habits are too confirmed to be remedied now; he began early, at college, and has constantly grown worse."

"You are prejudiced," persisted Georgia, unable to restrain her tears.

"If I am, it is because of his profligacy! Can you possibly be attached to such a man?"

Georgia sobbed and cried heartily. Her good sense told her that her mother was right, but it was difficult to relinquish the hope of reforming him. As gently as possible, Mrs. Asbury dwelt upon his utter worthlessness, and the misery and wretchedness which would surely ensue from such a union. With streaming eyes, she implored her to banish the thought, a.s.suring her she would sooner see her in her grave than the wife of a drunkard. And now the care of years was to be rewarded; her firm but gentle reasoning prevailed. Georgia had always reverenced her mother; she knew she was invariably guided by principle; and now, as she listened to her earnest entreaties, all her obstinacy melted away. Throwing herself into her mother's arms, she begged her to forgive the pain and anxiety she had caused her.

Mrs. Asbury pressed her to her heart, and silently thanked G.o.d for the success of her remonstrances. Of all this Dr. Asbury knew nothing. When Mr. Vincent called the following day Georgia very decidedly rejected him. Understanding from her manner that she meant what she said, he became violently enraged; swore, with a solemn oath, that he would make her repent her trifling; took his hat, and left the house. This sufficed to remove any lingering tenderness from Georgia's heart; and from that hour Fred Vincent darkened the home circle no more.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Pauline's wedding day dawned clear and bright, meet for the happy event it was to chronicle. The ceremony was to be performed in church, at an early hour, to enable the newly married pair to leave on the morning boat, and the building was crowded with the numerous friends a.s.sembled to witness the rites. The minister stood within the altar, and, after some slight delay, Mr. Mortimor led Pauline down the aisle. Dr. Hartwell and Mrs. Lockhart stood near the altar.

Mr. Lockhart's indisposition prevented his attendance. Satin, blond, and diamonds were discarded; Pauline was dressed in a gray traveling habit and wore a plain drab traveling bonnet.

It was a holy, a touching bridal. The morning sunshine, stealing through the lofty, arched windows, fell on her pure brow with dazzling radiance, and lent many a golden wave to the silky, cl.u.s.tering curls. Pauline was marvelously beautiful; the violet eyes were dewy with emotion, and her ripe, coral lips wreathed with a smile of trembling joyousness. Perchance a cursory observer might have fancied Mr. Mortimor's countenance too grave and thoughtful for such an occasion; but though the mouth was at rest, and the dark, earnest eyes sparkled not, there was a light of grateful, chastened gladness shed over the quiet features. Only a few words were uttered by the clergyman, and Pauline, the wild, wayward, careless, high- spirited girl, stood there a wife. She grew deadly pale, and looked up with a feeling of awe to him who was now, for all time, the master of her destiny. The vows yet upon her lips bound her irrevocably to his side, and imposed on her, as a solemn duty, the necessity of bearing all trials for herself; of smoothing away home cares from his path; and, when her own heart was troubled, of putting by the sorrow and bitterness, and ever welcoming his coming with a word of kindness or a smile of joy. A wife! She must be brave enough to wrestle with difficulties for herself, instead of wearying him with all the tedious details of domestic trials, and yet turn to him for counsel and sympathy in matters of serious import. No longer a mere self-willed girl, consulting only her own wishes and tastes, she had given another the right to guide and control her; and now realizing, for the first time, the importance of the step she had taken, she trembled in antic.i.p.ation of the trouble her wayward, obstinate will would cause her. But with her wonted, buoyant spirit she turned from all unpleasant reflections, and received the congratulations of her friends with subdued gayety. Beulah stood at some distance, watching the April face, checkered with smiles and tears; and, looking with prophetic dread into the future, she saw how little genuine happiness could result from a union of natures so entirely uncongenial. To her the nuptial rites were more awfully solemn than those of death, for how infinitely preferable was a quiet resting-place in the shadow of mourning cedars to the lifelong agony of an unhappy union! She looked up at her quondam guardian, as he stood, grave and silent, regarding his niece with sadly anxious eyes; and, as she noted the stern inflexibility of his sculptured mouth, she thought that he stood there a marble monument, recording the misery of an ill-a.s.sorted marriage. But it was schooltime, and she approached to say "good-by," as the bridal pair took their seats in the carriage. Pauline seemed much troubled at bidding her adieu; she wept silently a minute, then, throwing her arms around Beulah's neck, whispered pleadingly.

"Won't you go back to Uncle Guy? Won't you let him adopt you? Do, please. See how grim and pale he looks. Won't you?"

"No. He has ceased to care about my welfare; he is not distressed about me, I a.s.sure you. Good-by. Write to me often."

"Yes, I will; and in vacation Ernest says you are to come up and spend at least a month with us. Do you hear?"

The carriage was whirled away, and Beulah walked on to her schoolroom with a dim foreboding that when she again met the beautiful, warm-hearted girl sunshine might be banished from her face. Days, weeks, and months pa.s.sed by. How systematic industry speeds the wheels of time! Beulah had little leisure, and this was employed with the most rigid economy. School duties occupied her until late in the day; then she gave, every afternoon, a couple of music lessons and it was not until night that she felt herself free. The editor of the magazine found that her articles were worth remuneration, and consequently a monthly contribution had to be copied and sent in at stated intervals. Thus engaged, spring glided into summer, and once more a June sun beamed on the city. One Sat.u.r.day she accompanied Clara to a jewelry store to make some trifling purchase, and saw Eugene Graham leaning over the counter, looking at some sets of pearl and diamonds. He did not perceive her immediately, and she had an opportunity of scanning his countenance un.o.bserved. Her lip trembled as she noticed the flushed face and inflamed eyes, and saw that the hand which held a bracelet was very unsteady. He looked up, started, and greeted her with evident embarra.s.sment. She waited until Clara had completed her purchase, and then said quietly:

"Eugene, are you going away without coming to see me?"

"Why, no; I had intended calling yesterday, but was prevented, and I am obliged to leave this afternoon. By the way, help me to select between these two pearl sets. I suppose you can imagine their destination?"

It was the first time he had alluded to his marriage, and she answered with an arch smile:

"Oh, yes! I dare say I might guess very accurately. It would not require Yankee ingenuity."

She examined the jewels, and, after giving an opinion as to their superiority, turned to go, saying:

"I want to see you a few moments before you leave the city. I am going home immediately, and any time during the day, when you can call, will answer."

He looked curious, glanced at his watch, pondered an instant, and promised to call in an hour.

She bowed and returned home, with an almost intolerable weight on her heart. She sat with her face buried in her hands, collecting her thoughts, and, when summoned to meet Eugene, went down with a firm heart, but trembling frame. It was more than probable that she would be misconstrued and wounded, but she determined to hazard all, knowing how pure were the motives that actuated her. He seemed restless and ill at ease, yet curious withal, and, after some trifling commonplace remarks, Beulah seated herself on the sofa beside him, and said:

"Eugene, why have you shunned me so pertinaciously since your return from Europe?"

"I have not shunned you, Beulah; you are mistaken. I have been engaged, and therefore could visit but little."

"Do not imagine that any such excuses blind me to the truth," said she, with an impatient gesture.

"What do you mean?" he answered, unable to bear the earnest, troubled look of the searching eyes.