Chapter XI: A Blithe Bridal

It was a splendid winter morning. The snow, which had fallen thickly during the night, was now frozen hard on the ground, the housetops and the trees, and sparkled like frosted silver sprinkled with diamond dust in the dazzling sunshine.

Mrs. Walling’s household was astir. They were to have an early family breakfast before dressing to go to church.

Mrs. Walling and her young protégée met in the breakfast room. Judy was pale and nervous.

“Good-morning, my dear. Do you see that the clouds have gone with the night? A good omen for you, according to the folklore—‘Blessed is the bride that the sun shines on,’” said the lady as she drew the girl to her bosom and pressed a kiss on her brow.

“Oh, ma’am, I have prayed the Lord to bless the day for Ran’s sake, but my heart misgives me, ma’am,” sighed Judy.

“That is very natural, but in your case very unreasonable, my child. I never knew nuptials more promising for future happiness than are yours and Randolph’s.”

“Oh, but, ma’am, am I a fit wife for a gentleman?”

“Not for every gentleman; for there are not so many gentlemen who would be as worthy of you as Randolph Hay is. But why should you think that you are not fit for him?”

“Oh, ma’am, I am only a poor, ignorant girl, and, with all the pains you and Mrs. Moseley have taken with me, I have not been able to improve much. Only yesterday I forgot my manners before the strange lady.”

“You mean that you fell for a moment into the sweet dialect of your childhood? That did no harm, Judy. And, besides, when you go to London you will soon drop it altogether.”

“We are to live in retirement, to be sure, until we are both trained for society, I know. But still, for all that, I fear I am doing Ran a wrong to marry him.”

“Look here, Judy! You and Randolph were engaged to be married to each other, I think, while you were both in the miners’ camp—you a miner’s sister; Ran a miner and the partner of your brother. You, neither of you, dreamed of any higher position or better fortune than luck in the mines might bring you. Is it not so?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Very well, then. Now suppose that it had been to you, instead of to Randolph, that the unexpected fortune had come? Suppose that some nobleman of high rank and wealth had suddenly come forward and claimed you as his lost child and heiress, would you then have broken off with poor Ran, because he was only a poor miner?”

“No! No! No!” cried Judy with flashing eyes and rising excitement. “I nivir could a bin such a baste av the wurruld!”

Then she suddenly stopped and clapped her hands to her lips.

“But if Randolph had taken it into his head that he, a poor miner, was no fit husband for you under your changed circumstances, what would you have done?”

“I should have broken me harrt entirely!” exclaimed Judy, falling again into dialect, as she always did when strongly moved.

“And yet you can talk about not being a fit wife for Randolph, just because, since his engagement to you, he has come into a fortune. My dear, you should consider your betrothal so sacred that no change of fortune could be able to affect it.”

“I see it, ma’am! I see it! And I will say no more about it,” said Judy, smiling through her timid tears.

“And now we will have breakfast,” said Mrs. Walling, rising and ringing the bell.

The tray was brought in at one door, while Mr. Walling came in at the other, and the three sat down to breakfast, the master of the house merely greeting the guest with a kindly:

“Good-morning, my dear,” as he took his seat at the table.

As soon as breakfast was finished they separated to dress for church.

I would like, also, to give my reader a glimpse of the young bridegroom-expectant on this the morning of his wedding day, in his temporary home in the apartment house occupied by Stuart and Palma.

The three young people breakfasted together in the little, elegant parlor of the Stuarts’ suite of rooms, Mrs. Pole waiting on them.

Ran’s face shone with joy that he could not hide; Cleve’s and Palma’s were bright with sympathetic smiles.

Ran had entreated Mike Man to come and share his rooms at these flats until the wedding day and the embarkation for Europe, but Mike had steadily refused, declaring that, well as he loved his brother-in-law, he would be out of place among Ran’s fine friends, and that he would feel more at home “along wid Samson and Dandy.” Mike had decided to accompany these old friends to Europe, in the second cabin of the same steamer on which Ran had taken a stateroom in the first cabin for himself and his bride. These three miners were going home to the old country to settle there. Different motives actuated the three. Old Dandy wished to spend his declining years among old friends. Longman wanted to return to his aged and widowed mother. Mike could not stay behind all his friends, and must go with them.

What each was to do on the other side of the ocean was not very clear, even to themselves. Each had a little money saved up. Dandy thought he would sink his savings in a life annuity. Longman hoped to get a gamekeeper’s place on some estate. Mike wanted to go to school for a little while. He was really nineteen years old, but so small and slender that he might easily have passed for a schoolboy. But he meant to keep near his mining “pards,” so as not to “inthrude” on Ran and Judy and their fine friends.

Vainly had faithful Ran combated this resolution. Mike had been firm, and Ran had to yield the point.

Now, as Ran sat at table with Stuart and Palma, the latter said to him:

“You and Judy will be married as Cleve and myself were—without bridesmaid or groomsman.”

“Yes,” said Ran; “but it is not my fault or Judy’s. I wanted Judy’s brother, my old partner, Mike Man, to be my groomsman, which would have been right enough; but Mike stoutly refused. If Mike had consented to stand up with me, then Judy might have had a bridesmaid in one of the Moseley young ladies. But, no; Mike was as stubborn as a mule. To be sure, I know that Mr. Jim Moseley and Miss Betty Moseley would have kindly stood up with us, but Judy said no; and so we must stand up alone.”

“It is just as well. And now, my dear,” said Palma, rising from her seat with a pretty little matronly air of authority, “as you have finished your breakfast, you had better go and dress yourself. Your carriage was ordered at half-past nine, I think. When you have finished, come to me that I may put the last touches on your toilet—twirl the curls and mustache, and pin the boutonnière, as you have no valet. Though, I suppose, you will set up some Monsieur Frangipanni as your personal attendant and dresser.”

“Thank you, Cousin Palma. Never! Never! I should be too much in awe of such a grand dignitary,” said Ran, laughing, as he left the room.

“What a happy dog he is, my dear,” exclaimed Stuart to his wife as they also retired to dress for the wedding.

Meanwhile, at this same hour, in an upper room at Markiss’ Hotel on Water Street, another scene of preparation was going on.

Samson Longman, Andrew Quin, and Michael Man were dressing for the wedding.

The three men were fresh from the bath and the barber. Longman had his hair cut and his fine, flowing beard dressed, and, with his strong, regular features and his clear, blue eyes, looked a very handsome colossus, indeed. He wore a fashionable dress suit of black cloth, with a vest of black satin, a small white tie, a tea rose in his buttonhole, white kid gloves and patent leather boots.

He looked every inch a gentleman, as he really was.

Dandy had had his red hair and side whiskers trimmed and dressed. He also wore a dress suit of exactly the same style of Longman’s, even to the little details of the white tie, tea rose, kid gloves and patent leathers.

Mike, with his short, dark, curly hair neatly arranged, his fresh face, innocent of beard or mustache, and his slight figure in a dress suit proper to the occasion, looked like a boy got up for a birthday party, or a freshman ready for his first college exhibition.

“Come, Mike! Stop admiring yourself and hurry up. Dandy, come! It is nine o’clock, and time to start if we are to reach the church and get seated in time to see the wedding party come in,” said Longman.

“Eh, Lorrd! But me courage has sunk down into the bottom av me boots! What would ail me to be pushing meself amongst gentlefolk, anyway?” exclaimed the nervous old man.

“Because it is my own Ran and Judy’s wedding, sure, and you are invited. And they would feel hurt by your absence,” replied Mike.

“Eh, Lorrd, I wouldn’t mind the church so much. Sure, ivirybody’s free to go into a church. But it’s the breakfast. Sure, an’ I nivir sat down to the table wid gentlefolks in all my life, and wouldn’t know more’n the babe just born how to behave myself, Lorrd! and if all tales be thrue, gentlefolks’ ways at table is that diffunt from our’n!” sighed Dandy.

“I suppose they eat, and drink, and talk, and laugh pretty much as other people do. Take courage, Dandy, old man. Just look at yourself in the glass! Why, you might be a Wall Street millionaire, or a college professor, or a United States Senator, to look at you,” laughed Longman.

“I know!” exclaimed Dandy with a self-satisfied smirk after glancing at the mirror. “Sure, ‘fine feathers make fine birds!’ And it is not how I look, at all, at all, but how I’m to behave, what I’m to say, and what I’m to do. That’s what bothers me.”

“Oh, bosh! You needn’t do anything nor say anything unless you like to. As for behaving, just watch other people and behave as they do.”

“Now, that’s a first-rate idea o’ your’n, Longman—first-rate. And I’ll jist be guided by that. I’ll watch the gentry, and behave jist as they do, and thin I can’t do amiss!” exclaimed Dandy, brightening up.

A very dangerous rule, with many unsuspected exceptions.

“And now put on your overcoats and draw your woolen mittens over your white kids, and come along, you two, or we shall be late,” said Longman, who had already put on all his outer garments and stood ready to march.

When the three men were quite ready they went downstairs together, walked over to the Fourth Avenue cars, boarded one and rode uptown; got out at Blank Street, and walked to the church.

There was no sign about the building to indicate a wedding for that morning. The doors were closed, and there was not a carriage nor a human being near the sacred building.

The truth is that the Wallings and all concerned in the affair had kept the intended wedding not only out of the papers but out of all gossiping circles. They did not want to have a sensational supplement to the magnificent pageantry of the grand Hay-Leegh wedding. And their reticence had even extended to a firm refusal to indorse any journalistic report of the appearance of the rightful claimant to the Haymore estate.

“Don’t you think we hev bin afther making a mistake in the place, Mr. Longman?” inquired Dandy, looking mistrustingly up to the closed and silent building.

“No; we’re the first that’s come, that’s all. Walk in.”

And so saying he led the way, opening first the great black walnut outer door and then the red cloth inner door and entering the church.

There they found the sexton, who asked them for cards.

Longman produced the three informal notes written by Mrs. Walling, and the sexton, after looking at them, marshaled the three men up the aisle, between empty pews, to seats near the altar, where they sat down.

When they had become accustomed to the “dim religious light” of the interior, they perceived that they themselves were the only persons in the church.

“You see that we are early,” said Longman.

“Well, sure, thin, I’m not sorry. I can compose the narves av me,” replied Dandy.

They drew off their overcoats, folded them, and put them under the seats, shoved their silk hats after the coats, and then took off their woolen mitts, rolled them up, and put them in their pockets, and posed themselves for the scene expected.

Presently the door opened and quite a large party entered, and were led by the sexton to the front row of pews before the chancel.

“It’s the bowld Col. Moseley and his tribe, sure,” said Mike in a low voice to his companions.

Dandy looked up.

It was the tribe, indeed. The colonel, his wife and ten of his girls and boys. The two youngest children had been left at home on account of their tender age. The colonel’s wife wore her Sunday suit of brown satin, with a brown velvet bonnet and a rich old India shawl that had been an heirloom in her family, having come down to her from her great-grandmother. Her many daughters wore plain cardinal-red or navy-blue dresses, with plush coats and felt hats to match.

Next entered a single pair, unknown to Longman and Dandy, but not to us. They were Mr. and Mrs. Cleve Stuart. Palma wore her lovely suit of navy-blue demassée velvet, with turban to match.

They were provided with seats to the left of the Moseleys.

A few minutes after them came a lady alone. She was Mrs. Duncan, in a plum-colored satin dress and a sealskin coat and cap.

Finally, just as the organ began to peal forth a magnificent wedding march, streamed in two processions from two opposite points.

First, out from the vestry door came two white-robed clergymen, with open books in their hands, followed by the bridegroom, in evening dress, with a white rose in his buttonhole.

“Ah, thin, see till our broth av a b’hoy! Sure, don’t his face shine like the morning starr itself?” whispered Dandy to his companion.

Longman looked and saw Ran, with his brow radiant with frank happiness which he did not think of suppressing.

“Whish! Look down the aisle itself! There comes me swate swishter! Och! what an angel!” murmured Mike.

Longman looked and smiled.

Dandy turned his head and caught his breath. He had never in all his life seen anything half so lovely as little Judy in her bridal array. And yet her dress was simple enough. She wore a plain white silk, trained; a white tulle overskirt, looped with sprays of orange buds; a white tulle veil, fastened above her curly, black hair with sprigs of orange buds; and on her neck and arms a set of pearls given her by Ran. Her eyes were cast down until their long, sweeping, black lashes lay on her slightly flushed oval cheeks. She came slowly, leaning on the arm of Samuel Walling, who was to give her away.

No doubt her brother would have been asked to perform this service, but that he was under age. And, besides, he would have shrunk from the honor of taking so conspicuous a part in the ceremony, since he would not even officiate as groomsman.

Behind them came Mrs. Samuel Walling, in a superb suit of ruby brocaded velvet, with turban to match. She was leaning on the arm of her brother-in-law, Mr. William Walling.

The two clergymen advanced to the altar railing with open books in their hands.

The bridegroom met the bride and took her hand; both bowed to the officiating ministers, and then knelt down on the hassocks before the altar.

Their immediate friends drew around them. The company in the pews stood up.

Mike bent eagerly, breathlessly forward.

The ceremony began. It continued amid a breathless silence, unbroken except by the voices of the officiating ministers and responses of the kneeling pair before them, and the short reply of the “church father” in bestowing “this woman” upon “this man.”

After the benediction was pronounced friends crowded around the newly wedded young pair with congratulations that were not merely conventional, but earnest, heartfelt.

Mike crept out of his pew, glided easily through the crowd, and stood before his sister and brother-in-law, mute, unable to speak, still looking like a very shy schoolboy at his college exhibition.

But Ran seized his hand and shook it heartily, and held it fast while he said:

“Mike—dear boy—we were always brothers in heart, and now we are brothers in reality! Are you not going to embrace your sister? She is not less your sister because she is my wife, but more so, for she has married your bosom’s everlasting brother.”

Mike then turned to Judy, who opened her arms and folded him to her heart in a warm embrace.

Longman and Dandy hung back for a little while, and then the old man stood up and said:

“I can’t stand it at all, at all! Sure, I must go and spake to the darlints!”

And out of the pew he went, and up to the chancel, where “fine” friends were still surrounding the young pair.

They made way for the eager old man as he pushed through the group and confronted Ran and Judy, offering each a hand and crying with emotion:

“I’ve come to wish ye the blissing av the Lord and all His holy saints, me brave bhoy and gurrul—I mane Misther and Misthress Randolph Hay av Hayti!”

Ran and Judy took each a hand of the old miner and said something inarticulate in kindly thanks. Then, seeing Longman standing behind and towering above Dandy, Ran held up his hand and the colossus came forward and offered his congratulations, which both Ran and Judy received with much hearty feeling.

“I do not forget, Longman, that I never should have lived to see this happy day but for you,” said Ran, warmly pressing his hands, while Judy’s smile expressed all that she also would have said if she could have spoken.

“Come, my young friends,” said Mr. Samuel Walling, approaching the group, “we must not keep the reverend gentlemen waiting; we must go into the vestry room and sign the register.” And he drew Judy’s arm within his own and carried her off, followed by Ran and the rest.

When this form was completed the small company left the church.

There were but two carriages waiting before the door. One was Mrs. Walling’s, in which she had brought the bride to the church; the other was Ran’s, in which he was going to take his wife back.

Mrs. Walling stood until she had seen Ran hand Judy into the clarence and take his seat beside her, when she turned to William Walling and said:

“Well! I would like to give you a seat back to the house; but I want to take in Mr. and Mrs. Stuart. Go up in the street car—that is a good fellow! And while you are at it see after those poor fellows from the mines. Get them into the same car with yourself, so that they won’t miss their way.”

“All right!” exclaimed good-humored Mr. Will. “Where are the bears?”

“There they are!” she said, nodding toward the three men coming from the church door. “Go and introduce yourself to them, and then you will be capable of bringing them up to the house and presenting them to your brother and myself. They are great friends of Ran, you know. One of them saved his life! They came with the colonel’s family and Judy from California. Now be off!” added the lady as she saw her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Stuart, approaching, and went to meet them, saying to Palma:

“My dear, I have been waiting for you to come out. I have two vacant places in my carriage. I should be much pleased if you and Mr. Stuart would take them.”

“Thank you very much. You are very kind,” said Palma, accepting the offer as frankly as it was given.

Stuart bowed—there was nothing left for him to say or do. The “ladies” had made the arrangement! That was enough for the Southern gentleman.

They entered the carriage with Mr. and Mrs. Walling and were driven rapidly uptown.

The colonel’s large family crowded into a street car.

Will Walling, Longman and Dandy found seats in another car.

And so the wedding guests went their way to the Walling house.

Arrived there, the ladies and children, only nine in all, were shown into an upper room to lay off their bonnets and wraps and add bouquets and white kid gloves to their toilets.

The gentlemen, ten in all, were shown into another room for light changes.

And after half an hour’s performances they all filed down to the drawing-room, where they found their host and hostess, and the bride and groom, waiting to receive them.

Here also the wedding presents were on view for a short time, before being packed and dispatched to the steamer, which was to be effected while the company should be at table. There was a silver tea service from Mr. and Mrs. Walling; a silver salver from Mr. Will; a gold watch and chain from Col. and Mrs. Moseley; a box of fine handkerchiefs from Cleve and Palma Stuart—this was the same box that had been given by Cleve to Palma months before, but not a handkerchief had been disturbed, and having nothing else to give she gave it now, with Cleve’s consent. There was a gold chain and cross from Mike; a pretty hand-bag from Longman, a workbox from Dandy, and various dainty trifles, mostly of their own manufacture, from the Moseley girls and boys.

A little later the butler slid back the rolling portières and announced breakfast, which was laid in a long rear room.

The wedding party—host and hostess, bride and groom, and guests, filed in and seated themselves at the table—nine on each side, host and hostess at the head and foot. Ran and Judy sat on the right side of Mrs. Walling, Col. and Mrs. Moseley on her left. Below Judy sat Mr. and Mrs. Cleve Stuart. Below Mrs. Moseley sat Mr. William Walling and Mrs. Duncan.

Longman sat on Mr. Walling’s right hand, and Dandy on his left. Other guests, chiefly the young people of the colonel’s family, filled all the other seats. Mike sat halfway up on the right side of the board.

Two waiters, in black dress suits, white satin waistcoats and kid gloves, served the guests.

Tea, coffee or chocolate was offered.

Dandy took tea—in what a little, fragile eggshell of a cup! How different from the massive, yellow bowl from which he used to gulp great draughts of that rare luxury, or something made up to imitate it.

He was afraid to touch this chrysalis for fear he should crush it. He left it on the table before him, and following Longman’s given rule, watched to see how other people handled their cups; as a matter of detail, he watched Col. Moseley, who stood, in his estimation, for the most perfect gentleman he knew.

By this precaution he avoided the mistake of pouring his tea into his saucer, which otherwise he would surely have done; for what on earth else were saucers made for anyhow?

Presently came around the boned turkey and the chicken salad.

Dandy chose the salad. But where was the knife with which to shovel the delicious compounds into his capacious mouth? Clearly the waiter had neglected his duty in providing a knife, for there was nothing beside his plate but a silver instrument with four fine prongs. In despair he looked in the direction of his model, the colonel, and saw that gentleman eating with the silver thing, holding it in his right hand. All the others round the table were doing the same thing!

Old Dandy shook his head, saying within himself:

“Sure, and I don’t like these newfangled ways; they ain’t Irish, nor ’Merican, nor they ain’t natural, nuther! But it’s a baste I am to be finding fault at Ran’s wedding, so it is.”

And then Dandy ate his salad as well as he could with his unaccustomed instrument.

The fest went on, and delicacy after delicacy was served. Plates were often changed, dishes were changed. Tea, coffee and chocolate gave place to tokay, champagne and johanisberg.

Dandy, following what he considered a safe rule, but which was soon proved to be anything else but safe, did as he saw other people do, and got through the feast very creditably until at length Col. Moseley arose in his place and called the attention of the company in a neat little speech, which he concluded with:

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have the honor to propose the health of the bride and groom.”

Up jumped Dandy to do as other people—notably his model colonel did, and exclaimed:

“Me, too, ladies and gintlemin! I purpose the good health of the bride and groom!”

Consternation fell for a moment on the company, but the colonel had suffered more than one “surprise” in the course of his military life, and he was equal to the occasion.

“Thank you, sir, in the name of our friends,” he said gravely, bowing to Dandy. “Then, gentlemen, fill up your glasses.”

The toast was honored. And no one felt more satisfied with himself and with all the world than did Dandy Quin.

Other toasts were offered and equally honored, Dandy taking a conspicuous part in every one.

It was twelve o’clock when the guests sat down to the table. It was two when they arose and withdrew to the drawing-room.

Then Judy went upstairs to change her light bridal dress for the heavy green cloth suit that was to defend her from the wintry winds of the open sea.

At her earnest request no one was to go down to the steamer to see them off.

“Because I shall behave badly. I know I shall. I shall cry. And it is so awful to cry in public!” said Judy.

All her effects had been packed and sent on the steamer, except the one little trunk into which her last belongings were to go, and which was to be put into the carriage with her.

So as soon as she was dressed for the departure—cloth suit, fur-lined cloak, beaver poke and all—she came down, into the drawing-room, where all her friends were assembled, and there she bade them all good-by. She kissed, embraced and wept over her friends, one after the other; but when she came to Mrs. Moseley she clung to her as if she could never leave her, weeping as if her heart would break.

At last it was that tender lady herself who gently unwound the girl’s arms from around her neck, and stooping, whispered:

“Look at Ran, dear. See how distressed he is. He must not see you grieve so!”

Judy hastily wiped her eyes.

Mrs. Moseley beckoned Ran, who came forward and received the girl from the lady’s arms.

“Oh, Ran, dear,” sobbed Judy, falling into her dialect, “don’t ye moind me crying. Sure it’s a cowld-harrted craychur I’d be not to graive, parting with the loikes av her, a rale highborn leddy as has ben sich a mother to me.”

“My own dear Judy!” whispered Ran. And that was all he could say.

Mike had taken leave of all his friends and had gone on before. But there were two more whom Judy thought she must bid good-by to.

“Where is Misther Longman and Uncle Dandy?”

“Here we are, Misthress Hay!” answered old Dandy from the hall.

“Oh! I must bid ye good-by, dear frinds!” said Judy, holding out her hand.

“Nivir a bit of it, hinny. Sure we’re all in the same boat! That is, the same stamer! We go wid ye across the say! On’v ye’s go in the grand first cabin, and we go in the second. Our duds went on board this morning, and Mike’s gone down to the tovvurn to pay our score. And, sure, he’ll join us on the stamer!” said Dandy.

“Oh! I knew Mike was to go with us, but didn’t know you were. I am so glad you are going with us!” exclaimed Judy, drying her last tears.

But Ran was hurrying her into the carriage that was to take them to the steamer. When he had placed her in her seat he returned to speak to the two men.

“Since you are going in the same ship, ride down with us. There are two vacant seats in our carriage,” he said.

“Couldn’t think of such a thing!” exclaimed Longman, laughing. “What! intrude on a bride and groom! We appreciate your magnanimity and thank you mightily, but we couldn’t think of it!”

And though Ran urged his invitation, Longman steadily refused it, much to Dandy’s disgust, who would willingly have enjoyed the luxury of a ride in that elegant clarence.

“We will go down in the horse cars and get there before you. You’ll find us on deck when you arrive. Come, Dandy!” said Longman, and raising his felt wide awake, he walked away, carrying off his unwilling little old friend.

Ran entered the carriage and gave the order to the coachman. And they started for the steamer.

A half-hour’s drive brought them to the crowded pier, and five minutes’ struggle through the confusion transferred them to the deck of the _Boadicea_, where they found Will Walling, Mike, Longman, and Dandy waiting for them.

“No more partings here, dear Judy. Here are meetings!” said Ran with a smile.

An hour later the _Boadicea_ sailed.

At that same moment Mrs. Duncan, taking leave of Mrs. Walling, repeated her words:

“Ah! won’t there be a circus when Mr. and Mrs. Randolph Hay confront Gentleman Geff and Miss Leegh at Haymore! How I would like to be there!”