The other carriage drove up at last. It had been a long time coming, for Madam Winthrop had returned to consciousness only to fall from one fit of weeping into another, and then to blame the unfortunate girl, whom she called "that little scheming hussy," declaring that "she wasn't satisfied with leading astray a man of integrity like Harrington, but when she found it was impossible to make him swerve from his duty she had worked upon Charles's tender heart and made him marry her out of pity."

She was scarcely to blame, poor lady, for her nerves had been on a continual strain for many hours, and when one took into account her extraordinary love for the son who had left her when but a boy, and whose faults she had entirely overlooked, it was not strange. But it was hard on her son Charles, and on her devoted husband, whose love for her was deep, yet whose desire to make everybody else happy and comfortable was also great. It had been a trial to him, indeed, that she should behave in this unseemly way in the house of his friend. He had found it useless to talk with her or to try to pacify her, so at last he left her with his sister until she should grow calm, and hastened in the carriage to see the bridal couple off. It had been arranged that Charles should bring his young wife home for the present until further arrangements for their new life could be made.

Dawn's heart bounded with excitement when she saw that no one was sitting in the carriage but the elder Mr. Winthrop. She did not know whether to be glad or sorry. If he did not come in time for the train, perhaps her new friend would go on without them, and yet, after what had happened, perhaps it was right that he should. But her heart sank at the thought, and involuntarily she lifted her eyes to drink in the strong, handsome outlines of his face.

Charles Winthrop turned instantly and met the gaze of his wife with a look of such deep love, reverence, and tender care that it sent the color rushing to her cheeks, and the blood bounding through her heart.

It seemed almost as if she were again on the point of tears, so many emotions had followed one another through her weary soul that morning; but just then there came a distant rumble, and they said the train was coming. Everybody rushed at Dawn at once and kissed her. Betty fairly smothered her, saying: "Oh, you dear, dear, dear! I shall have you to-night at home!"

Then they hurried her to a seat in the railway carriage, and Charles sat down beside her. n.o.body seemed to think it strange that he had done so, and n.o.body said it was too bad her husband was detained. They did not even seem to be looking for him, and wondering why he was not there.

Dawn was bewildered and fairly held her breath, wondering if it could be possible that she was to start off on her wedding journey without the bridegroom. Though, she had not been to many weddings, she knew enough to feel that her situation was a strange one. The only explanation she could think of was that his mother had been so ill that he had to remain with her for a time, and would come later and explain. But even then it made her heart sink to think that he should have cared so little for her embarra.s.sment that he had sent her no word. It augured ill for the future. Nevertheless, she was conscious of a great relief that he had not come, and a great comfort in the presence of this other man.

There was a good deal of fun and confusion when at last the train started, with a showering of rice and old slippers, and a stretching of necks from the other carriages to see what it was all about. But they were soon under way, and Dawn sat back with intense delight to enjoy the new sensation of a railway ride, without the expected attendant inconvenience of an unloved husband. It was perhaps not ideal, but she could not help it, and when one's heart has been breaking slowly for weeks and rapidly for the last few hours, it is but nature to let it throb on naturally for a few minutes if it will. How could she help being happy? The sky was blue, blue; the bits of water they glimpsed far away, the winding ribbon of the river in the distance, were blue also. The trees seemed fairly to spread themselves in the summer sunshine, and the whole world looked washed anew for happiness, basking in the sunlight of heaven. The birds that flew away at sound of the strange creature that went rumbling through the country, the sleepy cows that grazed diligently upon the hillsides, the dull sheep that raised unwondering eyes and bleating voice at the moving monster, all seemed new creations to the girl. She cried out with delight at everything, and Charles entered into her joy.

It was not Charles's first ride upon a train, therefore when she asked some question about their wonderful mode of travel he fell to explaining it all carefully to her, with a learned manner that fascinated her, and before she knew it she was watching his face and his eyes, and her heart was glowing with the thought of him. Then he suddenly caught her hand that lay in her lap, and, taking its forefinger between his own thumb and finger, her hand enclosed in his, he made it point to a tiny white house nestled upon a hillside far away, with a glimpse of water in the distance and a shelter of feathery trees all about.

"There! See there!" he cried. "Do you see that house up there? How would you like it if you and I lived there?"

Instantly that little house seemed to Dawn a very heaven of peace, to which she would gladly fly from the grander house that she thought awaited her at the end of her journey. She caught her breath and pressed her free hand hard upon her frightened, happy heart, and cried, "Oh! Oh!" so wistfully that he stooped and kissed her once, and then again, and whispered, "Darling! My darling!"

They were alone in their carriage, you remember, and as the train was not then going round a curve, but was sleepily jogging through a lovely wooded place, no one in any of the other carriages could see.

Dawn felt the thrill of his touch go through her again, and then her conscience roused, and she drew herself away, quite shyly, and not at all as if she were angry. Her cheeks were crimson under her drooping lashes.

Her lover watched her adoringly. He was shy himself, and felt that maybe he had gone too far in a public place like a railway carriage; but she had been so charming, and was she not his?

Then her trembling lips brought out a question which shot a pang of jealous pain through his heart.

"Won't you tell me-please-where is-m'-where is--" She hesitated painfully, wishing he would understand and finish the sentence for her; but he only looked down anxiously, trying to understand what she wanted.

"Won't you please tell me where-Mr. Winthrop is?"

He understood at once that she did not mean his father, but his scoundrel brother. His face shadowed with a frown. Was she, then, thinking only of him who had tried to cover her with shame and disgrace?

And would it always be so, that she would hark away from his love to that which had gone before? He sighed impatiently, but tried to answer her gently, a strange pity in his voice:

"I thought they had told you. It was strange they did not. He took the train at once. He found it was necessary, you understand."

"Oh!" There was immense relief in Dawn's exclamation, and the color came back to her cheeks, which had grown pale with apprehension when she asked the question.

"Then he will not come on this train at all?" she asked, and a light broke into her eyes.

"You poor child!" said he gently. "Were you afraid of that?" He laid his hand over hers comfortingly.

"I have been so tired and so frightened," murmured Dawn; and now she had to let the tears come rolling down her cheeks, though she tried hard enough to keep them back. But somehow she felt he would understand it all, and she lay back and let him wipe them away with his large, cool handkerchief that smelled of rose-leaves; and between the tears he laid a kiss now and then that seemed like healing ointment to her sore heart, so she no more tried to contend with her conscience as to what was right for married women to do in such circ.u.mstances. She only knew she had found some one who acted toward her as she remembered her dear mother doing. The kisses seemed such as an angel's might be, if an angel stooped to kiss. So she ceased trying to understand, and just took the comfort of it. Perhaps it had been sent to her to help her in her time of need. Remember, she was very young, and had been facing a great terror.

They presently trundled out of the woods into a little village, and the comforting had to cease. Dawn sat up with rosy cheeks and bright eyes, the tears all gone, and looked about her with interest. They talked in low tones of the people they saw come and go on the platform, and laughed at a couple of geese who were squawking and gabbling at the train for coming so close to their nice mud-puddle by the track, putting in a natural protest against the march of civilization.

But an old lady with many bandboxes and a carpet-bag was put into their coach just before the train started on its way again, and there could be no more quiet confidences. Dawn had thought she would presently ask a few more questions about her husband, and why he had found it necessary to take another train. Most of all, she wanted to know when and where she was to meet him. But now there was no more opportunity to ask questions.

At Albany, they waited for the stage-coach, and walked about exploring the city, more absorbed in their own pleasant converse than in sight-seeing, however.

"Do you know, they have never told me your name. I heard it first in the ceremony this morning," said Charles, with a smile. "It is strange, isn't it? But we have had so little time, and before that I was away, and they always wrote of you as 'Miss Van Rensselaer.' I never asked your name because I liked to think of you as I saw you first, all spring blossoms, like some spirit of the air, and I thought a name might destroy the vision."

The pink came softly into the girl's cheek at his earnest words, and it filled her heart with a glow of pleasure like to nothing she had ever felt before.

"They wouldn't have told you my real name if you had asked," said she, showing her dimples in a smile answering to his. "I was christened Jemima, but my mother, my own dear mother, who died a good many years ago, told me my name was Dawn, and she always called me that. She wouldn't consent to my being named Jemima until she found out that the meaning of it was 'Dawn of the Morning,' and she always called me that.

I always made everybody at school call me so too. They did not know the other name at school. I love the name because my mother loved it, and said it meant something sweet and dear to her."

She looked up, and the eyes she met were full of sweet understanding.

"Dawn! What a beautiful name! How glad I am it is that! It just fits you as I saw you first. You might have been personifying Dawn. You shall be the Dawn of my morning always."

They were in sight of the stage-coach now, and as they saw that the driver was preparing to start, they had to hurry to it, so they had no further opportunity to talk; but each had been given a vision into the heart of the other.

Dawn was still ignorant of where she was going, and as she sat in the coach and saw others climbing in to fill the seats, she suddenly realized that there would be no more opportunity now for the questions she should have asked while they were walking. But she had hesitated to spoil their pleasant walk, and had dismissed her fears and troubles, entering into the spirit that Charles had seemed to manifest.

As he sat close beside her through the long miles, his arm rested against hers, and now and again came a gentle pressure, as if he would let her know he was there. Then the remembrance of his lips upon hers swelled over her in a mingling of remorse and joy, and her heart cried out to itself, "Oh, I love him! I love him! What shall I do? If I only were not married, perhaps I might have him for a friend. I never had a real friend. But now, I suppose, I can never see him any more."

By and by, when they stopped to change horses, Charles found seats for them on the top of the coach with the driver. It was lovely up there, with a wide view of the beautiful country through which they were riding, and no one to bother them; for the old coach driver was not of a garrulous disposition, as most of those worthies were, and they had their talk to themselves. Still, he was there, and Dawn dared venture no more confidential questions.

The day drew to a close, and they came to the last change of horses before reaching the home of the Winthrops.

CHAPTER XIV

"We are almost home," said Charles joyously. He felt that it was a very happy moment.

"Oh, are we going to your home?" she asked, catching her breath and wondering what that meant.

"Why, yes, didn't you know? I supposed Mrs. Van Rensselaer would tell you all the plans. She said you did not wish to come down to talk them over beforehand."

"I know," said Dawn, a shadow creeping over the happy face. "I could not." She looked at him with appealing eyes, as if she knew he would understand.

"I understood," he answered her. "You had been through too heavy a strain, a shock--" He paused.

She looked puzzled, and wondered how he knew that her marriage was a shock to her. Was it because his eyes understood her from the first?

Was it a kind of spirit understanding spirit? Dawn was not a philosopher, but something like this flashed through her thoughts.

"But she told me nothing. Indeed, I did not ask. Perhaps it was my fault," she added.

"Certainly not," said Charles vehemently. "It was her business to tell you the plans. I expressly asked her to do so after we had them all arranged. I asked her to see if they had your approval. I should not have made any arrangements without it."

"Oh!" Dawn had never had her approval of anything asked in her life.

She could scarcely understand why it should be done. It was very nice, but how and why did this delightful person seem to have had the arranging of her plans? It was all a mystery, but she could not ask about it now before the coach driver. Perhaps the future would unravel the mystery.

"Just how much did she tell you, any way?" asked Charles, lowering his voice as much as possible, to make it confidential without actually putting it beyond the hearing of the driver.