The Bride of the Tomb and Queenie's Part 55

"Everything is perfect," she said, surveying herself critically in the mirror. "I am a shade too pale, but then they allow that to brides, I believe. Ah, me!"

She walked up and down the room, her small hands locked before her, her beautiful face as white as death, a look of deep unrest in her large, violet eyes.

There was a slight tap at the door. She knew it at once for her father's familiar knock.

"Enter, papa," she said.

He turned the door-handle softly and came in.

"I have come to see if the bride looks pretty," he said, veiling his emotion under an affectation of lightness.

"You are the only one who cares to know," she answered, with a ring of bitterness in her sweet voice.

He stood silent, surveying her with sad yet admiring eyes.

She wore the rich brocaded silk that her uncle had sent her a year ago from Paris, and which she had laughingly declared then should be her wedding-dress. Its rich shining folds trailed far behind her, and the soft folds of the bridal veil fell over it like a mist. Her wreath and the knots of flowers that looped up her dress were of natural orange blossoms, the gift of her lover. Their fragrance pervaded the room deliciously. She wore a magnificent set of diamonds, the bridal gift of Captain Ernscliffe.

Young, beautiful, elegantly attired, she made a picture on which the eyes might feast and never grow weary, and none would have guessed how heavy was the heart beating under the satin corsage, or that the fearful elements of a tragedy had been woven into that life that seemed yet in its earliest spring.

Her father looked at her a moment, then silently opened his arms, and she as silently glided into them, heedless that the bridal veil was disarranged as she laid her fair head down upon his breast.

"Papa," she murmured, with quivering lips, "_you_ love me, you are kind to me in spite of--of--all."

"G.o.d bless you, my little daughter," he said, solemnly, and touched his lips lightly to her brow.

It was the first time he had kissed her since she had come back. He had forgiven her, and been kind to her, but the loving caresses that had been showered on the little Queenie who went away had never been given to the Queenie who returned. This silent, gentle kiss seemed to have all the solemnity of a farewell.

"Papa, I feel strangely," she said, putting her hands to her brow; "my head whirls, my--oh! oh! G.o.d, oh, G.o.d, what is that?"

With a wild and ringing shriek of horror she tore herself from his arms, and stood pointing at the window with one jeweled finger, her blue eyes dark and dilated, her face transfigured with terror.

That frightened shriek penetrated to Georgina's room across the hall.

The bride and her mother and sister all made a rush for Queenie's room, apprehending some dire calamity.

They found her standing in the centre of the floor, her face transfigured with terror, her shaking finger pointed at the window, while she wailed aloud in accents of remorse and despair:

"_The dead! The dead!_"

"Queenie, Queenie, you rave!" her father exclaimed, catching her arm as she held it forward, still pointing at the window.

She turned around and clung to him, sobbing wildly:

"A ghost was there, papa--a horrible ghost!"

"No, no, dear, there was nothing--I saw nothing. Queenie. There is no one at the window," he answered soothingly.

She gave a fearful, shuddering look at the window.

"It is gone, now, papa; but I tell you I saw a ghost at the window--one from the dead came and looked at me--_his_ ghost, papa," she moaned, hiding her face on his shoulder.

"Whose ghost was it, Queenie?" asked Georgina, curiously, as she stepped forward in her elegant bridal robe. "Whom did you see?"

"Do not tease her, Georgie--stand back and give her air--see, she is about to faint!" exclaimed her father, a little shortly.

The bride stepped back with a murmur of discontent. She thought it exceedingly rude in her father to snub the prospective Lady Valentine.

"Oh! for mercy's sake, Queenie," exclaimed Mrs. Lyle, rushing forward with a bottle of _eau de cologne_, "don't give way to hysterical fancies now when it is almost time for the ceremony to begin! You saw nothing at the window but the moonlight; come, come, compose yourself! Your toilet will be totally disarranged!"

She fell to work bathing the limp, nerveless hands and cold brow of the girl, while Sydney and Georgina stood coldly aloof--the bride because she was afraid of ruffling her delicate plumage, and Sydney because she would not have lifted a finger to save Queenie if she had lain dying before her.

In the midst of the tumult the maid rushed in.

"Oh! Mrs. Lyle," she exclaimed, "the company is arriving. Mrs. Preston's carriage is at the door, and Mrs. Alden's and Mrs. Howe's."

"Oh! dear," exclaimed Mrs. Lyle, "was there ever such a _contre temps_?

Not a soul in the drawing-room to receive them! Sydney, you must go down, I cannot leave Queenie in this state."

Sydney curled her lip in a disdainful smile and went.

The marriage was to take place at home, and the drawing-room was profusely decorated with flowers. A beautiful arch of white flowers was arranged where the bridal couples were to stand, and wreaths and bouquets were variously disposed about the room.

Sydney in the white heat of anger that filled her heart felt sick and faint as the overpowering fragrance pervaded her senses.

Yet she had to stand up and receive the guests and smile and talk as if it were the happiest evening she had ever known.

She had refused to become one of the bridesmaids, so when the bridal party with their long string of lovely attendants entered the room and stood before the bishop, she drew back into an obscure corner that no one might see the jealous pain and hatred in her heart disfiguring her handsome face.

Georgina was married first, taking precedence of Queenie by virtue of her own four years seniority, and her betrothed's superior rank. Then the newly-wedded couple stepped quietly back, and Captain Ernscliffe and his radiantly-beautiful bride took their place; the solemn words were spoken, the ring slipped over her slim finger, and they turned to receive the congratulations of their friends.

One of the servants came bowing and smiling into the group carrying a magnificent bouquet of white flowers.

"For Mrs. Ernscliffe," he said, presenting it, "with the compliments of a friend."

She took it into her white hand with a faint smile.

"It is rarely beautiful," she said, and lifted it to her face and inhaled the strong, sweet odor of the costly flowers.

Something more pungent than the innocent breath of the flowers entered into her brain as she inhaled the fragrant incense. She threw up her hands, and without a word or cry, the smiling bride fell lifeless at her husband's feet.

CHAPTER IX.

No one suspected the agency of the beautiful and odorous bouquet in the sudden and tragical death of the fair young bride. It lay upon the floor where it had fallen when she fell, and in the grief and excitement of the moment no one thought of picking it up. Who would have thought that death could lurk in the fragrant breath of so beautiful an offering? So the lovely destroyer lay unheeded where it had fallen, and in the morning it was removed by the servants, who saw in it only a withered bouquet that littered the rich carpet.

But its mission was accomplished, and when Lawrence Ernscliffe lifting the drooping head of his new-made bride, he saw only the marble mask of death on that peerless face that a moment ago was wreathed in smiles.

But he could not believe it, and when the physician who was hastily summoned gave the verdict so often wrongly given in cases of sudden death, that heart-disease had caused the calamity, the groan of agony that broke from the strong man's lips was heart-rending.