The Masked Bridal Part 61

His signature was then duly witnessed by them, after which they withdrew, Mr. Bryant's clerk, who was one of the number, taking the doc.u.ments with him.

Roy, however, remained behind.

"Mr. Correlli," he said, as soon as the door closed, "I have one more request to make of you, before I leave; it is that you will openly acknowledge as your wife the woman you have wronged, and thus bestow upon your child the name which it is his right to bear."

"I will see them both--"

"Hush!" sternly interrupted Roy, before he could complete his pa.s.sionate sentence. "I simply wish to give you the opportunity to do what is right, of your own free will. If you refuse, I shall do my utmost to compel you; and, mark my words, it can be done. That woman and her child are justly ent.i.tled to your name and support, and they shall have their rights, even though you may never look upon their faces again. I give you just one week to think over the matter. You can leave the country if you choose, and thus escape appearing in court; but you doubtless know what will happen if you do--the case will go by default, and Giulia and Ino will come off victors."

The man knew that what the lawyer said was true, but he was so enraged over his inability to help himself that he was utterly reckless, and cried out, fiercely:

"Do your worst--I defy you to the last! And now, the quicker you relieve me of your presence the better I shall like it."

The young lawyer took up his hat, bowed politely to his defeated foe, and quietly left the room, very well satisfied with the result of his morning's work.

All the necessary forms of law were complied with to release Edith from even a seeming alliance with the man who had been so determined to win her.

An announcement was inserted in the Boston papers explaining as much as was deemed necessary, and thus the fair girl was free!--free to give herself to him whom her heart had chosen.

Then she was formally adopted by Mrs. Stewart, the old schoolmate of the late Mrs. Allandale, and a little later, when they were settled in their elegant residence on one of the fashionable avenues, society was bidden to a great feast to honor the new relationship and to congratulate the charming hostess and her beautiful daughter, who was thus restored to a position she was so well fitted to grace.

At the same time Edith's engagement to the young lawyer was announced, and it seemed to the happy young couple as if the future held for them only visions of joy.

True to his promise, Roy gave Emil Correlli the week specified to decide either for or against Giulia; then, not having heard from him, he inst.i.tuted proceedings to establish her claim upon him.

Correlli did not appear to defend himself, consequently the court indorsed her pet.i.tion and awarded her a handsome maintenance.

Once only Gerald G.o.ddard met his daughter after she learned the facts relating to her birth and parentage.

They suddenly came face to face, one morning, in one of the up-town parks. He looked ill and wretched; his hair had become white as snow, his face thin and pale, and his clothing hung loosely about him.

"Pardon me," he began, in uncertain tones, while he searched her face wistfully. "No doubt you despise me too thoroughly to wish to hold any intercourse with me; still, I feel that I must tell you how deeply I regret, and ask your pardon for, what occurred in the dressing-room at Wyoming on the last night of that 'winter frolic.'"

Edith's tender heart could not fail to experience a feeling of sympathy for the proud man in his humiliated and broken state.

Remembering that it was through him that her blessed freedom from Emil Correlli and her present happiness had come, she forced herself to respond in a gentle tone:

"I have always felt, Mr. G.o.ddard, that you were not fully conscious of what you were saying to me at that time."

"I was not," he eagerly returned, his face lighting a trifle that she should judge him thus leniently. "I had been drinking too much; still, that fact should, perhaps, also be a cause for shame. Pray a.s.sure me of your pardon for what I can never forgive myself."

"Certainly; I have no right to withhold it, in view of your apology,"

she responded.

"Thank you; and--and may I presume to ask you one question more?" he pleaded.

Edith's heart leaped into her throat at this, for she was impressed with a knowledge and a dread of what was coming.

For the moment she could not speak--she could only bow her a.s.sent to his request.

"I want to ask if--if, since you left my house, you have learned anything regarding my previous history?" he inquired, with pale lips.

"Yes," she said, sadly, "I know it all. My mother told me only because I demanded the truth. She would have preferred to keep some things from me, for your sake as well as mine, but I could not be satisfied with any partial disclosure."

"How you must hate me!" the man burst forth, while great drops of agony gathered about his mouth.

He had never believed that a human being could suffer as he suffered at that moment, in knowing that by his own vileness he had forever barred himself outside the affections of this lovely girl, toward whom he had always--since the first hour of their meeting--been strangely attracted, and whose love and respect, now that he knew she was his own child, seemed the most priceless boons that earth could hold for him.

At first Edith could make no reply to his pa.s.sionate outburst.

"No," she said, at last, and lifting a regretful look to him, "I hope that there is not an atom of 'hate' in my heart toward any human being, especially toward any one who might experience an honest, though late, repentance for misdeeds."

"Ah! thank you; then have you not some word of comfort--some message of peace for me?" tremulously pleaded the once haughty, self-sufficient man, while he half extended his hands toward her, in a gesture of entreaty.

Her lips quivered, and tears sprang involuntarily to her eyes, while it was only after a prolonged effort that she was able to respond.

"Yes," she said, at last, a solemn sweetness in her unsteady tones, "the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace."

She often wondered afterward how it happened that those words of blessing, once uttered by a patriarch of old, should have slipped almost unconsciously from her lips.

She did not even wait to note their effect upon her companion, but, gliding swiftly past him, went on her way.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX.

CONCLUSION.

Three months after the incidents related in our previous chapter a large and fashionable audience a.s.sembled, one bright day, in a certain church on Madison avenue to witness a marriage that had been antic.i.p.ated with considerable interest and curiosity among the smart set.

Exactly at the last stroke of noon the bridal party pa.s.sed down the central aisle.

It was composed of four ushers, as many bridesmaids a maid of honor and two stately, graceful figures in snow-white apparel.

One of these latter was a veiled bride, her tall, willowy figure clad in gleaming satin, her golden head crowned with natural orange blossoms, and she carried an exquisite bouquet of the same fragrant flowers in her ungloved hands--for the groom had forbidden the conventional white kids in this ceremony--while on her lovely face there was a light and sweetness which only perfect happiness could have painted there.

Her companion, a woman of regal presence and equally beautiful in her way, was clothed in costly white velvet, richly garnished with pearls and rare old point lace.

The fair bride and her attendant were no other than Isabel Stewart and her daughter.

"Who should give away my darling save her own mother?" she had questioned, with smiling but tremulous lips, when this matter was being discussed, together with other preparations for the wedding.

Edith was delighted with the idea, and thus it was carried out in the way described.

The party was met at the chancel by Roy, accompanied by his best man and the clergyman, where the ceremony was impressively performed, after which the happy couple led the way from the church with those sweetest strains of Mendelssohn beating their melodious rhythm upon their ears and joyful hearts.

It was an occasion for only smiles and gladness; but, away in a dim corner of that vast edifice, there sat a solitary figure, with bowed head and pale face, over which--as there fell upon his ears those solemn words, "till death us do part"--hot tears streamed like rain.