CHAPTER XII.

THE MASKED BRIDAL.

"Oh, Mrs. Weld!" Mrs. G.o.ddard exclaimed, in tones of well-a.s.sumed eagerness. "I am so glad you are here! I fear I have taken cold and am going to have a chill; will you be so good as to go down and mix me a hot lemonade and send it out behind the stage to me? for I must go back directly, and I will drink it there."

The housekeeper arose at once and went out into the hall, where she saw that madam appeared excited and trembling, while her face was very pale, although her eyes were unusually bright.

Somehow, she did not believe her to be ill; but she cheerfully acceded to her request, and went directly below to attend to her commission.

As she pa.s.sed down the back stairs, Edith came hurrying up the front way.

"What has happened?" she inquired, as she observed madam's unusual excitement.

"The most unfortunate thing that could occur," she nervously replied.

"Miss Kerby and her brother, who had the leading parts in the play, have just been summoned home, by telegraph, on account of sickness in the family, and that leaves us without our hero and heroine."

"That is unfortunate, surely; the play will have to be given up, I suppose?" Edith remarked.

"No, indeed! I should die of mortification!" cried madam, with well-a.s.sumed consternation.

"But what can you do?" innocently inquired the young girl.

"The only thing to be done is to supply their places with others," was the ready answer. "I have a gentleman friend who will take Mr. Kerby's place, and I want you, Edith, to a.s.sume the part of the bride; you are just about the size of Alice Kerby, and the costume will fit you to perfection."

"But I am afraid I cannot--I never took part in a play in my life,"

objected Edith, who instinctively shrank from becoming so conspicuous before such a mult.i.tude of people.

"Nonsense! there is but very little for you to do," said madam, "you have simply to walk into the church, upon the arm of the supposed bride's father. You will be masked, and no one will see your face until after all is over, and you have not a word to say, except to repeat the marriage service after the clergyman."

Edith shivered, and her face had grown very pale. She did not like the idea at all; it was exceedingly repugnant to her.

"I wish you could find some one else," she said, appealingly.

"There is no time," said madam.

"Oh! but it seems almost like sacrilege to me, to stand before such an audience and repeat words so solemn and significant, when they will mean nothing, when the whole thing will be but a farce," Edith tremulously remarked.

A strange expression swept over madam's face at this objection.

"You are absurdly conscientious, Edith," she coldly observed. "There is not another girl in the house upon whom I can call--they are all too large or too small, and the bridal costume would not fit one of them. Pray, pray, Miss Allen, pocket your scruples, for once, and help me out of this terrible predicament--the whole affair will be ruined by this awkward _contretemps_ if you do not, and I, who have promised so much to my friends, shall become the laughing-stock of every one present."

Still the fair girl hesitated.

Some unaccountable influence seemed to be holding her back, and yet she felt that it would be very ungenerous, very disobliging of her, to allow Mrs. G.o.ddard to be so humiliated before her hundreds of guests, when this apparently slight concession upon her part would smooth everything over so nicely.

"Oh, Edith! say you will!" cried the woman, appealingly. "You must!"

she added, imperatively. "Come to my room--the costume is there all ready, and we will soon have you dressed."

She threw her arm around the girl's slender waist and almost compelled her to accompany her.

The moment they were within Mrs. G.o.ddard's chamber, the woman nervously began to unfasten the young girl's dress, but her fingers trembled so with excitement, showing how wrought up she was, that Edith yielded without further demur, and a.s.sisted in removing her clothing.

"That is good of you, dear," said madam, smiling upon her, "for we must work very rapidly while the scenery is being changed--we have just fifteen minutes"--glancing at the clock. "How fortunate it is that I asked you to wear white this evening!" the crafty woman remarked, as Edith's dress was removed, thus revealing her dainty underwear, "for you are all ready for the wedding costume without any other change. Here, dear, just help me, please, with this skirt, for the train is so long it needs to be handled with care."

She lifted the beautiful satin skirt from the bed as she spoke, and together they carefully slipped it over the young girl's head.

The next moment it was fastened about her waist, and the l.u.s.trous material fell around her slender form in graceful and artistic folds.

The corsage was then put on and--wonderful to relate--it fitted her to perfection.

"How strange! one would almost think it was made for me!" she remarked, all unsuspicious that her measure had been accurately taken from a dress that had been left in the city.

"Ha! ha!" laughed madam, in musical exultation, "I should say that it was a very fortunate coincidence, and it shows that I made a wise choice when I selected you to take Miss Kerby's place. I did not know who else to call upon--of course I could not go out into the audience to find some one, and thus betray my predicament to everybody; neither could I take one of the housemaids, because she would have been sure to blunder and be so awkward. Oh! isn't this dress just lovely?"

Thus madam chattered, while she worked, wholly unlike herself, nervous, anxious, and covertly watching every expression of Edith's sensitive face.

But the girl did not have the slightest suspicion that she was being tricked.

The emergency of the moment appeared sufficient to tax the nerves of any one to the utmost, and she attributed everything to that.

"It certainly is a very rich and elegant costume," Edith gravely responded to the woman's query. "It seems to me to be far too nice and elaborate for the occasion."

Mrs. G.o.ddard reddened slightly, and shot a quick, searching look at the girl's face.

"Well, of course it had to be nice to correspond with everything else," she explained, "for all the other young ladies are to wear their ball costumes, which are very elegant, and since the bride is to be the most conspicuous of all, it would not do to have her less richly attired. There!"--as she fastened a beautiful cl.u.s.ter of orange-blossoms to the corsage and stepped back to study the effect--"aren't you just lovely in it?"

"Now the veil," she continued, catching it up from the bed.

"Oh!"--with an expression of dismay--"we have forgotten the boots, and you must not sit down to crush the dress. Here, support yourself upon this chair, hold out your foot, and I will put them on for you."

And the haughty woman went down upon her knees and performed the menial service, regardless, in her excitement, of her own elegant costume, which was being crushed in the act.

Then the veil was adjusted, madam chatting all the while to keep the girl's attention, and Edith, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the gla.s.s and under the influence of her companion's magnetism and enthusiasm, began to be imbued with something of the spirit of the occasion and to enjoy seeing herself adorned with these beautiful garments, which so enhanced her beauty.

When everything was done, madam stood back to look at her work, and uttered an exclamation of delight.

"Oh! you are simply perfect, Edith!" she said. "You are just too lovely for anything! Miss Kerby would not have made nearly so beautiful a bride, and--and--I could almost wish that you were really going to be married."

"Oh, no!" cried the fair girl, shrinking back from the strange gleam that shone from the woman's eyes, as she made this remark, while her thoughts flew, with the speed of light and with a yearning so intense that it turned her white as snow, to Royal Bryant, the man to whom, all unasked, she had given her heart.

Then, as if some instinct had accused her of unmaidenly presumption, a flush, that was like the rosy dawn upon the eastern sky, suffused her fair face, neck, and bosom.

"Ha! ha! not if you could marry the man of your choice?" queried madam, with a gleam of malice in her dark eyes and a strange note of triumph in her silvery laugh that again caused her companion to regard her curiously.

"Oh! please do not jest about it in this light way--marriage is too sacred to be treated with levity," said Edith, in a tremulous tone.