"If anybody _could_ shut my nephew up, I believe it is you, George Throckmorton. Has Jane Temple suggested that you should join the church yet?"

"She suggests it to me every time I go to Barn Elms, and whenever I go off for a lover's stroll with Jacqueline, Mrs. Temple tells me I ought to go home and seek salvation."

"And do you mind her?" asked Mrs. Sherrard, quite gravely; at which Throckmorton gave her a look that was dangerously near a wink.

Mrs. Sherrard drove off, triumphant. She had got at the whole thing, in spite of Jane Temple.

The wedding preparations went bravely along; carried on chiefly by Judith. Jacqueline had set her heart on a white silk wedding dress, which for a time eclipsed everything else on her horizon. Mrs. Temple declared that it was extravagant, but Judith, by keen persuasion, succeeded in getting the wedding-gown. She made it with her own hands, and across the front she designed a beautiful and intricate embroidery, to be worked by her.

"Judith, you will kill yourself over that wedding-gown," Mrs. Temple once remarked. "You have drawn such an elaborate design upon it that you will have to work night and day to get it finished."

"I shall simply have to be a little more industrious than usual,"

replied Judith, with the deep flush that now alternated with extreme paleness.

Jacqueline herself was deeply interested in this gown; more so than in any particular of the coming wedding. Judith had marked off for herself a certain task of work each day upon the embroidery of the gown. Every night, when she stopped at the end of her task, it was as if another stone were laid upon her heart. Throckmorton had noticed her industry, and had admired her handiwork, which she proudly showed him.

"But you are getting white and thin over it," he said. "Wouldn't it be better that Jacqueline should not have such a beautiful frock, than for you to work yourself ill over it? I have a great mind to speak to Mrs.

Temple about it."

"No, no, pray don't!" cried Judith, with a kind of breathless eagerness.

"It would break my heart not to finish it."

Throckmorton looked at her closely. She was not given to that kind of talk. But suddenly she began telling him a funny story of Mrs. Sherrard coming over to pump Mrs. Temple about the coming event, and then she laughed and made him laugh too. Walking back home that night, he found himself speculating on this development of fun and merriment in Judith--a thing she had always suppressed and kept in abeyance until lately.

"Certainly she is in better spirits--more like what one can see her natural self is in the last month or two," he thought; and then he began to think what a very sweet and natural woman she was, and to hope that, when Jacqueline was her age, she would have developed into something like Judith. But he never liked to look very far into the future with Jacqueline.

As the time drew nearer for the wedding, Freke's continued presence at Barn Elms became more marked. He did not avoid Throckmorton any longer, who thought no more of it than he did of Jack's frequent visits. Jack had quite got over any chagrin or disappointment he might have felt, and was kindness and attention itself to Jacqueline. Throckmorton sometimes felt annoyed and discouraged at seeing how much more Jacqueline had in common with Jack than with himself. They were on the terms of a brother and sister--Jack teasing and joking, yet unvaryingly kind to her, and Jacqueline always overflowing with talk to him, while with Throckmorton she was sometimes at a loss for words. But one glance from her dark eyes--that peculiar witching glance that had fixed Throckmorton's attention on her that very first Sunday in church--could always make amends to him. As for Freke, he came and went with his violin under his arm, and n.o.body attached any importance to him except Judith, who honored him with the same still, guarded ill-will that Freke perfectly recognized, and did not apparently trouble himself about. His eternal presence in the house was a nightmare to Judith. She wondered if he would keep on that way after Jacqueline was gone--when Jacqueline was mistress of Millenbeck; but she could not dwell on that without a tightening at her heart. At all events, it would soon be over.

Mrs. Temple had at last got interested in the wedding preparations, and everything was going on famously until about two weeks before the wedding, when one day General Temple got a letter. There was to be a reunion of Beverley's old command at Richmond, and it was desired that the Temple family should attend.

Such a request was sacred in the eyes of General and Mrs. Temple. It was at once decided that General Temple must go, and he insisted that Mrs.

Temple should go also. She was only too willing. Inconvenient as it might otherwise be to leave home, the idea of having Beverley talked of, eulogized, remembered, was too near the idolatrous mother's heart to be foregone. The invitation also included Judith, but it was clearly impossible for both Judith and Mrs. Temple to leave Barn Elms at the same time just then; so it was quickly settled, to Judith's infinite relief, that Mrs. Temple should be the one to go. Mrs. Temple was helped to a decision by the reflection that Judith, being young and handsome, it was not impossible that some miscreant might suggest the possibility of her marrying again; and, without uttering this impious thought, it had its influence upon her. So it was fixed that, within a day or two, they were to start, and would be gone probably four days. Throckmorton was vexed at the decision--vexed at the entire readiness to sacrifice Jacqueline's convenience to that of the dead and gone Beverley. But he wisely said nothing; in a little while Jacqueline would have some one that would always consider her first. But suddenly Jacqueline raised a tempest by declaring that she wanted to go with her father and mother as far as a certain station on the railroad, near Richmond, and thence to pay a visit to her Aunt Susan Steptoe. Now, Jacqueline had never showed the slightest fondness for this Aunt Steptoe, and, in fact, was singularly lacking in family affection, after the Virginia pattern, which takes in a whole family connection. Consequently, the notion was the more remarkable. When it was first broached, it was simply pooh-poohed by the general, and calmly ignored by Mrs. Temple. Judith looked at her with reproachful eyes.

"You know, Jacqueline, there is no earthly reason for such a whim; and I am sure Major Throckmorton would not like it."

"It's of no consequence what Major Throckmorton thinks about it!" cried Jacqueline, unterrified by a warning light in Judith's eye--it always made Judith angry when Jacqueline spoke slightingly of Throckmorton.

But Jacqueline held to her notion with the most singular and startling pertinacity. Usually a word or two from Judith would bring her back to the basis of common sense; but in this case, nothing Judith could say would alter Jacqueline's determination. She was tired of wedding clothes--tired of Barn Elms--tired of everybody; in fact, she made no secret to Judith of being tired of Throckmorton, and wanting to escape from him for a time, if only for four days. She forced her mother to listen to her, and would take no denial. At last she hit upon the argument to move Mrs. Temple. It was the last request she had to make until she was married, and, if Mrs. Temple could do so much for the dead Beverley, she certainly could not refuse this trifling request from the living Jacqueline. Mrs. Temple turned pale at this; and she faltered out that, childish and unreasonable as the scheme was, she would agree--provided Throckmorton gave his consent.

That night, when Throckmorton came for his usual visit, Jacqueline met him at the hall-door with a tenderness that surprised and charmed him.

It was so sweet, he could hardly believe it to be true. But, before the evening was over, Jacqueline demanded payment in the shape of his consent that she should pay this little visit to her Aunt Susan.

"d.a.m.n Aunt Susan!" was Throckmorton's inward remark at this; and he managed to convey practically the same idea to Jacqueline. But it did no good. Jacqueline had the scheme in her head, and it must be carried out.

It was in vain that Throckmorton reasoned gently with her. He had often heard that weak women were the most intractable in the world, and the recollection made him wince when he saw how dense this lovely young creature was to common sense. But she was so ineffably pretty--she leaned her bright head on his shoulder and pleaded--and, of course, after a while, Throckmorton yielded, ostensibly because Jacqueline asked him so sweetly, but really because she was utterly impervious to reason.

When the consent was at last wheedled out of him, Throckmorton felt sore at heart and humiliated. He also felt, for a brave man, a little frightened. How often was this sort of thing going to happen? It was true that, after he was married, he could use his authority as Jacqueline's husband to prevent her from doing anything particularly foolish, but it did not please him that he should rule his wife as if she were a child. Jacqueline saw nothing of Throckmorton's secret dissatisfaction; but Judith, with the clairvoyance of love, saw it in an instant. For the first time in her life, she followed him out into the hall, where he was getting into his overcoat, with rather a black countenance.

"Don't be troubled about it," she said, in her charming way. "She is so young--she will learn so much from you!"

Throckmorton took Judith's hand in his. She made no resistance this time--that quick inner sense told her instinctively that there was something comforting to him in her gentle and womanly clasp. He looked at her with a somber expression on his face that gradually lightened.

"Do you think she will ever be different?"

"Yes," cried Judith, gayly. "How perfectly ignorant you are of love! I declare you are worse than Jacqueline. It's the greatest reformer in the world--the most cunning teacher as well. It will teach Jacqueline all she ought to know; but it can't do it at once."

"But does she love me?" asked Throckmorton, smiling a little.

"How could she help it?" answered Judith, turning her head archly, and implying that Throckmorton considered himself a lady-killer--which made him laugh, and sent him off home in a little better humor with the world and himself.

Meanwhile, back in the drawing-room, Jacqueline was having a conversation with Simon Peter, who was raking down the fire for the night. General and Mrs. Temple had left the room. Usually Jacqueline slipped off to bed an hour before they did; but to-night she lingered, standing over the fire with one little foot on the bra.s.s fender.

"How does it look to-night, Uncle Simon?" she asked, meaning how did the sky look, and what were the chances for good weather.

"Hit looks mighty cu'rus to me, Miss Jacky," answered Simon Peter, in a queer sort of a voice that made Jacqueline stare at him. "I seed two tuckey-buzzards flyin' ober de house tog'er'r--and dat's a sign--"

"A sign of what?"

"A sign 'tain' gwi' be no weddin' at Barn Elms dis year."

Jacqueline turned a little pale. It had not been a great many years since she had fully believed every one of Simon Peter's signs and omens; and even now, his solemn prophecies sent a chill to her childish heart.

"An'," continued Simon Peter, advancing and raising a prophetic forefinger, "dis heah night I done heah de owls hootin' 'Tu-whoo, tu-whoo, tu-whoo!'--three times, dat ar way--dat doan' means nuttin'

but a funeral, when owls hoots dat away."

Jacqueline shuddered.

"O Uncle Simon, hush!"

"I tole you kase you arsk me," replied Simon Peter, stolidly; and at that moment Delilah came in.

"O mammy," cried Jacqueline, fairly bursting into tears, "you don't know what awful signs and things Uncle Simon has been seeing--funerals, and buzzards, and no wedding!"

"He have, have he!" snapped Delilah, with wrath and menace. "Simon Peter, he su't'ny is de foolishest n.i.g.g.e.r I ever seed. He ain' never got 'ligion good; he allus wuz a blackslider, an' heah he come skeerin'

my little missy ter def wid he buzzards an' he things!"

Simon Peter, who bore this marital a.s.sault with meekness, copied from General Temple, only remarked sheepishly:

"I done see de signs; an', Miss Jacky, she arsk me, an' I done tole her 'bout de two buzzards."

"Wid de tails tied tog'er'r, I reckon!" answered Delilah, with withering sarcasm; "an' maybe dey wuz gwi' fly ter Doc Wortley's ter see ef anybody gwi' die soon.--Doan' you min' Simon Peter, honey; jes' come wid mammy up-sty'ars an' she holp you to ondress an' put you in yo' bed."

Jacqueline went off, and in half an hour was tucked snugly in the great four-poster. But she would not let Delilah leave her. She kept her pulling the window-curtains this way and that, then raking down the fire because the light from the blazing logs hurt her eyes, and then stirring the flames into a blaze so that she might see the shadows on the wall. At last, however, Delilah got out, Jacqueline calling after her disconsolately:

"O mammy, do you believe in the two buzzards flying--"

"You jes' shet dat little mouf, an' go ter sleep, honey," was Delilah's sensible reply, as she went out.

The next day the whole party got off, General Temple leaving directions enough behind him to last if he were going to Turkey instead of to Richmond. Jacqueline at the last seemed loath to part from Judith. She said good-by half a dozen times, and wept a little at parting. There would be no need of letters, as they would only be gone four days.

Jacqueline was to stop off at the station, and join her father and mother there on their return from Richmond, getting home ten days before the wedding. There was some talk of asking Mrs. Sherrard to come over and stay with Judith during the absence of General and Mrs. Temple, but Judith protested. With her child she would not suffer for company, and the work on Jacqueline's wedding-dress would keep her busily employed, while Delilah and Simon Peter were protection enough for her at night.