Gertrude's Marriage Part 14

"Go, my child,--you know I don't like to be upset--G.o.d grant you all happiness." Gertrude went back to her room, chilled to the heart. A tall figure stepped hastily out of the window recess, and a strong arm was around her.

"It is you!" she said, drawing a long breath, while a rosy flush overspread her face.

The little wedding-party were a.s.sembled in the salon, the mother, Arthur, Jenny, Aunt Pauline and Uncle Henry. Two young cousins in white tulle made the only points of light amid the gloomy black.

"For Heaven's sake don't wear such long faces!" cried Uncle Henry, who looked as if the wedding had upset him as much as the funeral. "It is dismal enough as it is:--"

The door opened and the old clergyman entered. Uncle Henry went to meet him, greeted him loudly, and then disappeared with unusual haste to bring in the bride and bridegroom.

The afternoon sunshine flooded the rich salon, overpowering the light of the candles in the chandelier and the candelabra, and its rays rested on the young couple before the altar.

The voice of the clergyman, sounded mild and clear. They had met for the first time in the house of G.o.d, he said; evidently the Lord had brought them together, and what the Lord had joined together no man should put asunder. He spoke of love which beareth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Gertrude had chosen the text herself.

Then they exchanged rings. They knelt for the blessing, and they rose husband and wife.

Then they went up to their mother. Like Gertrude, Frank Linden saw all things in a different light in this hour. He held out his hand, and though he could find no words, he meant to promise by this hand-shake to guard the life just entrusted to him, as the very apple of his eye, his whole life long.

But Mrs. Baumhagen kissed the young wife daintily on the forehead, laid her fingers as daintily for one moment in his extended hand, and then turned to the clergyman who approached with his congratulations.

The young couple looked at each other, and as he looked into her anxious eyes he pressed her arm closer with his, and she grew calm and almost cheerful.

Uncle Henry had arranged the wedding-dinner, as was to be expected.

The curtains were drawn in the dining-room, which had a northern aspect, the lamps were lighted, and all the family silver shone and sparkled on the table. The old gentler man understood his business. He had had sleepless nights over it lately, it is true, but the menu was exquisite. The only pity was that he and Aunt Pauline and Arthur were the only ones who were capable of appreciating it, according to his ideas. The chilling mood still rested on the company, even through Uncle Henry's toasts, not even yielding to the champagne. The old egotist was almost in despair.

When the company adjourned to the drawing-room for coffee, Gertrude went to her room. A quarter of an hour later she came into the hall in her travelling dress. Her husband stood there waiting for her.

From the drawing-room they could hear the murmur of the company--here all was quiet.

She looked round her once more and nodded to the old clock in the corner.

"Good-bye, Sophie," she said, as she went down the staircase on his arm, and the old woman bent over the bannisters in a sudden burst of tears--"Say good-bye to all of them."

Brilliantly lighted windows shone out upon them in Niendorf when Frank lifted her out of the carriage, and led her up the steps. The sky was cloudy, and the fresh spring air was wonderfully soft and odorous.

"Come in!" he cried, opening the brown old house-door.

"Oh, what roses!" she cried with delight.

The bal.u.s.trade of the staircase, the doorways, the chains from which the lamps swung were all lavishly adorned with roses, and by the dim light they glowed against the green background as if they were real blossoms.

Kind Aunt Rosa!

Hand in hand they mounted the staircase and walked down the corridor.

It was only plastered, but it was quite covered with odorous evergreen.

"This is our sitting-room, Gertrude, till yours is ready."

She stood on the threshold and looked in with eager eyes. It looked exceedingly cosy and home-like, this low room, pleasantly lighted by the lamp; and a beautiful hunting hound sprang up, whining with joy at sight of his master, whom he had not seen for the whole day. She entered, still holding his hand, in a sort of trembling happiness.

"Oh, what a beautiful dog! And there is your writing-table, and that is the book-case, and what a dear old face that is in the gold frame. Is it your mother, Frank? Yes, I thought she must look like that. And what a pretty tea-table set for two! Oh, dearest!" And the proud spoiled child of luxury lay weeping on his breast.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The proud spoiled child of luxury lay weeping in his arms.]

"Here--it shall remain as it is, Frank--here it is warm and bright; no bitter word can ever be spoken here."

"Don't think of it any more," he whispered, comfortingly. "We have left all evil behind us. We are owners here, and we will have nothing but peace and love in our household."

"Yes," she said, smiling through her tears, "you are right. What have we to do with the outer world?"

They were standing together in front of his writing-table. A majolica vase stood on it filled with spring flowers.

"What an exquisite scent of violets!" she whispered, drawing in a long breath, and freeing herself from his arms.

A card lay among the flowers. Both hands were extended for it at once.

_Heartiest congratulations on your marriage, from_

C. Wolff, Agent.

"How did you happen to know him? _Why_ should he send that?" asked her eyes.

But he threw the card carelessly on the table and kissed her on the forehead.

CHAPTER X.

Spring is delicious when one is happy. The trees in the Niendorf garden put out their leaves one by one, a green veil hung over the budding forests, and violets were blooming everywhere; Gertrude's whole domain was filled with the scent of the blue children of spring. The voice of the young wife sounded through the old house like the note of a lark, and when Frank returned all sunburned from the fields, a white handkerchief waved from the shining windows upstairs, and when he reached the court it was fluttering in her hand on the topmost step.

"You have come at last, dearest," she would cry then.

And the walks in the woods, the evenings when he read aloud, and then the furnishing the house! How sweet it was to consult together, to make selections, to buy new things and how delighted they both were when they happened to think of the same things!

So the house was furnished by degrees. Workmen and upholsterers did their best. Aunt Rosa's room alone remained untouched, and the master's cosy room, in which they had pa.s.sed their first happy weeks together.

And now everything was ready, homelike and comfortable without any pretension. The low rooms were not suited to display costly carved furniture, so with excellent taste they had both chosen only the simplest things.

"By-and-by, when we build a new house, Gertrude," he said, and she a.s.sented.

"First we will improve the estate, Frank--it is so pleasant in these dear old rooms."

The garden-hall been fitted up as a dining-room. Close by was a drawing-room with dark curtains and soft carpets; on the walls Uncle Henry's wedding present, two large oil paintings--a sunny landscape and a wintry sea-coast. From behind great green palms stood out a n.o.ble bust of Hermes. Sofas, low seats and arm-chairs everywhere, and wherever there was the smallest s.p.a.ce it was filled up with a vase of fresh flowers.

Upstairs, next to the master's room, was that of the young wife, where her father's picture now stood behind the work-table, by the window.