Chapter VI

The delicious month of May had now come round once more. Nature, awakening to life, put on its wondrous robe of many colors, and the sun in proud consciousness of its power to tempt with the alluring warmth, the flowers concealed in the mystic bosom of Mother Earth, shone with ever increasing fervency. In Central Park Nature's feathered choir poured forth its gay song into the lovely spring air, while the perfumed lilacs lavished their scent upon all who came, caring not whether the dweller in tenements breathed it in greedily, or whether the superior residents of Fifth Avenue ignored it contemptuously.

In the house of the rich manufacturer the perfume of the lilacs was not missed; the most _recherche_ hot-house plants supplanting them in fragrance were artistically grouped on both sides of the great staircase down to the front door, filling all the room with a perfume that bewildered the senses. Servants in livery hastened busily, but noiselessly, about, putting the last touches to the decorations of the parlor for the wedding ceremony to be performed on this day. In the adjoining room a beautiful altar was visible, decked with superb flowers from which festoons of myrtle ran up to a hanging bell of red and white roses.

Carriage after carriage rolled to the door, from which descended fair guests, arrayed in splendid Worth and Felix gowns, while faultlessly dressed gentlemen helped them to alight.

In her room upstairs stood Lucy, in a white dress and gold-embroidered veil, with orange blossoms upon her bosom. Although apparently calm, she was deathly pale, and her heart, whose feelings had been suppressed with so much difficulty, betrayed itself by violent beating. A nameless uneasiness was upon her, almost suffocating her at times. Eugene's fair head and disquieting eyes were before her mind vividly--now--when in an hour's time she would be the bride of another. More than once she was obliged to have recourse to the smelling-bottle which stood upon the dressing-table, in order not to give way--to be strong enough to bear the torture of the ceremony with dignified calmness.

"The shock to my parents--the society in which I move--no, no, there is no retreat for me!" she murmured with decision in answer to her heart's loud insistence. She was marrying George in fulfillment of her parents' wishes and also to escape from her tormenting self. That in making this decision she had buried the ideals of her youth--her life's happiness, no one should ever guess. It was time now to steer boldly forth into the deep sea of matrimony, deprived forever of her life's compass.

Mrs. Denison, in a costly dress, had repeatedly opened the window and gazed with anxious impatience at all the carriages that came from the lower part of the city, but she saw no sign of their own carriage so impatiently awaited. Mr. Denison had gone down town in the morning, promising to be back before noon, and now it was four o'clock.

Disquieting rumors had already begun to circulate to the effect that the great banking house with which their whole fortune was deposited was on an unstable footing, owing to a rapid fall in the stock market.

Mr. Denison had said nothing of this to his wife, although a horrible agitation had taken possession of him, when, upon leaving the house he had told the coachman to drive at full speed to the banking house.

The guests were all assembled. The clergyman was waiting, but still there was no sign of Mr. Denison. An uneasy whisper, an ever-increasing impatience, could be noticed. Mrs. Denison's thin face took on a feverish red. Elmore's father was just about to telephone down town, when, at last the carriage rolled up to the door. The coachman, excited with overdriving, leaped from his seat and opened the carriage door; but he had no sooner cast a glance into the carriage than he uttered a loud cry, and with unsteady footsteps, hastened to Mrs. Denison.

"Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Denison, please don't be alarmed--" he panted in a trembling voice, "The big banking house down town failed this morning--and--it seems--Mr. Denison was so fearfully upset--so fearfully--when he came out of the bank his face was all red--and I heard him say in a low voice that he would have to fail too! Yes--and now--please don't be frightened--he's lying dead in the carriage!"

With a loud shriek, wringing her hands and moaning, Mrs. Denison hastened to the carriage. The gentlemen guests carried Mr. Denison's body, still warm, into the house. "Heart failure," said one to another. The women gathered around Mrs. Denison, who was loudly weeping, and tried to console her. Then one by one they stole away, since it was quite obvious that there would be no more thought of the marriage that day.

Lucy, worn out by weeks of mental agitation, was overcome by the sudden shock of this sad news, and fell back without a word upon the sofa, gliding gently from it to the floor. A beneficent unconsciousness clouded her perceptions. No one had time to care for her; all the servants had been sent right and left to bring medical aid for Mr. Denison. All means of restoration were tried, but failed to bring him back to life. "Apoplexy," said the physicians, and silently left the house.

Meanwhile Lucy lay on the soft carpet without a word or motion. In her dazzling white dress, with the gold-embroidered veil, with the marble paleness on her face, she looked like a sculptured goddess who had fallen from her pedestal.

The last wedding guests, those who had helped to carry Mr. Denison up to his room, had just driven away, sighing and shaking their heads as they discussed the sad event. The stillness of death settled over the house. Suddenly a sound was heard as of soft footsteps drawing near. Then the door of Lucy's boudoir, which had been left ajar, was gently opened. A curly-headed young man with a disturbed countenance appeared upon the threshold, looking right and left with admiring wonder. The front door was still standing open--no one had found time to close it.

Eugene, bringing Lucy's portrait, had thus been able to penetrate unperceived, to the upper story. Hardly able to believe his eyes, he gazed at the fair form in bridal attire lying upon the floor.

Startled and trembling in all his limbs, he was about to close the door he had just opened, when he caught sight of Lucy's face, pale as death, through the veil. Hastily putting down the portrait, he darted to her side, and trembling with intense excitement, caught her cold hands to his heart.

"Miss Lucy! Miss Lucy!" he cried, at first in a low voice, then louder and more anxiously--but she still lay there, cold and apparently lifeless.

Distracted, he looked about for help. He caught sight of the smelling bottle which Lucy had already used so often. He seized it quickly, pushed aside her veil, and held it to her nostrils.

A slight tremor passed through the beautiful limbs. Lucy moved her hand, but let it fall again. Eugene sprang up joyfully. As if she had been a feather he lifted the girl, now stirring a little. In blissful intoxication, he clasped his heart's ideal for one moment in his arms. Her breath played over his face, making him tremble with delight--carrying him out of himself, so that he pressed his lips to her's, not knowing what he did. "How has this bright creature filled my lonely life with sunshine!" he murmured sadly to himself, as with a deep sigh he laid Lucy on the sofa.

And then,--he felt the soft arms suddenly thrown about his neck. Lucy, still dazed and dreaming, had forgotten all about her wedding day, and knew nothing of her father's death. Eugene's words of love had roused her from her death-like stupor; she was conscious only of his nearness--of the intoxication of his kiss.

"Oh, Eugene," she whispered, "what a lovely dream!" She still lay with closed eyes. Eugene, speechless with delight, pressed her passionately to his beating heart. Lucy, startled, opened her eyes.

Suddenly George Elmore, his eyes blazing, stood before her, looking down upon her haughtily.

Without losing his self-command in the least he said with cutting scorn, "Oh, I am interrupting a tete-a-tete! We have a lover, have we? Just as well I have found it out in time! Ha, ha! I wish you much happiness--especially as in my own case my family would have to decline the honor of an alliance with a bankrupt's daughter!" Then he bowed coldly and went out.

Lucy, realizing the situation, uttered a cry and attempted to rise, but once again overcome with weakness, fell back with the same marble paleness upon her brow.