The Missing Bride Part 32

"Go to the deuce! Is that my business?"

Jacquelina laughed; and, quivering through every fibre of her frame with mischief, went back into the drawing-room to see the state of Grim.

To Jacquelina's surprise she found the note lying upon the same spot where she had dropped it. Dr. Grimshaw was standing with his back toward her, looking out of the window. She could not see the expression of his countenance. She stooped and picked up the note, but had scarcely replaced it in her pocket before Dr. Grimshaw abruptly turned, walked up and stood before her and looked in her face. Jacquelina could scarcely suppress a scream; it was as if a ghost had come before her, so blanched was his color, so ghastly his features. An instant he gazed into her eyes, and then pa.s.sed out and went up-stairs. Jacquelina turned slowly around, looking after him like one magnetized. Then recovering herself, with a deep breath she said:

"Now I ask of all the 'powers that be' generally, what's the meaning of that? He picked up the note and he read it; that's certain. And he dropped it there again to make me believe he had never seen it; that's certain, too. I wonder what he means to do! There'll be fun of some sort, anyway! Stop! here comes Marian from the quarters. I shouldn't wonder if she has missed her note, and hurried back in search of it.

Come! I'll take a hint from Grim, and drop it where I found it, and say nothing."

And so soliloquizing, the fairy glided back into the breakfast-room, let the note fall, and turned away just in time to allow Marian to enter, glance around, and pick up her lost treasure. Then joining Marian, she invited her up-stairs to look at some new finery just come from the city.

The forenoon pa.s.sed heavily at Luckenough. When the dinner hour approached, and the family collected in the dining-room, Dr. Grimshaw was missing; and when a messenger was sent to call him to dinner, an answer was returned that the professor was unwell, and preferred to keep his room.

Jacquelina was quivering between fun and fear--vague, unaccountable fear, that hung over her like a cloud, darkening her bright frolic spirit with a woeful presentiment.

After dinner Marian asked for the carriage, and Mrs. Waugh gave orders that it should be brought around for her use. Jacquelina prepared to accompany Marian home, and in an hour they were ready, and set forth.

"You may tell Grim, if he asks after me, that I am gone home with Marian to Old Fields, and that I am not certain whether I shall return to-night or not," said Jacquelina, as she took leave of Mrs. Waugh.

"My dear Lapwing, if you love your old aunty, come immediately back in the carriage. And, by the way, my dear, I wish you would, either in going or coming, take the post-office, and get the letters and papers,"

said Mrs. Waugh.

"Let it be in going, then, Mrs. Waugh, for I have not been to the post-office for two days, and there may be something there for us also,"

said Marian.

"Very well, bright Hebe; as you please, of course," replied good Henrietta.

And so they parted. Did either dream how many suns would rise and set, how many seasons come and go, how many years roll by, before the two should meet again?

The carriage was driven rapidly on to the village, and drawn up at the post-office. Old Oliver jumped down, and went in to make the necessary inquiries. They waited impatiently until he reappeared, bringing one large letter. There was nothing for Luckenough.

The great double letter was for Marian. She took it, and as the carriage was started again, and drawn toward Old Fields, she examined the post-mark and superscription. It was a foreign letter, mailed from London, and superscribed in the handwriting of her oldest living friend, the pastor who had attended her brother in his prison and at the scene of his death.

Marian, with tearful eyes and eager hands, broke the seal and read, while Jacquelina watched her. For more than half an hour Jacko watched her, and then impatience overcame discretion in the bosom of the fairy, and she suddenly exclaimed:

"Well, Marian! I do wonder what can ail you? You grow pale, and then you grow red; your bosom heaves, the tears come in your eyes, you clasp your hands tightly together as in prayer, then you smile and raise your eyes as in thanksgiving! Now, I do wonder what it all means?"

"It means, dear Jacquelina, that I am the most grateful creature upon the face of the earth, just now; and to-morrow I will tell you why I am so," said Marian, with a rosy smile. And well she might be most grateful and most happy, for that letter had brought her a.s.surance of fortune beyond her greatest desires. On reading the news, her very first thought had been of Thurston. Now the great objection of the miser to their marriage would be removed--the great obstacle to their immediate union overcome. Thurston would be delivered from temptation; she would be saved anxiety and suspense. "Yes; I will meet him this evening; I cannot keep this blessed news from him a day longer than necessary, for this fortune that has come to me will all be his own! Oh, how rejoiced I am to be the means of enriching him! How much good we can both do!"

These were the tumultuous, generous thoughts that sent the flush to Marian's cheeks, the smiles to her lips, and the tears to her eyes; that caused those white fingers to clasp, and those clear eyes to rise to Heaven in thankfulness, as she folded up her treasured letter and placed it in her bosom.

An hour's ride brought them to Old Field Cottage. The sun had not yet set, but the sky was dark with clouds that threatened rain or snow; and therefore Jacquelina only took time to jump out and speak to Edith, shake hands with old Jenny, kiss Miriam, and bid adieu to Marian; and then, saying that she believed she would hurry back on her aunty's account, and that she was afraid she would not get to Luckenough before ten o'clock, anyhow, she jumped into the carriage and drove off.

And Marian, guarding her happy secret, entered the cottage to make preparations for keeping her appointment with Thurston.

Meanwhile, at Luckenough, Dr. Grimshaw kept his room until late in the afternoon. Then, descending the stairs, and meeting the maid Maria, who almost shrieked aloud at the ghastly face that confronted her, he asked:

"Where is Mrs. Grimshaw?"

"Lord, sir!" cried the girl, half paralyzed by the sound of his sepulchral voice, "she's done gone home 'long o' Miss Marian."

"When will she be back, do you know?"

"Lord, sir!" cried Maria, shuddering, "I heerd her tell old Mis', how she didn't think she'd be back to-night."

"Ah!" said the unhappy man, in a hollow tone, that seemed to come from a tomb, as he pa.s.sed down.

And Maria, glad to escape him, fled up-stairs, and never paused until she had found refuge in Mrs. L'Oiseau's room.

One hour after that, Professor Grimshaw, closely enveloped in an ample cloak, left Luckenough, and took the road to the beach.

CHAPTER XXIV.

NIGHT AND STORM.

The heavens were growing very dark; the wind was rising and driving black clouds athwart the sky; the atmosphere was becoming piercingly cold; the snow, that during the middle of the day had thawed, was freezing hard. Yet Marian hurried fearlessly and gayly on over the rugged and slippery stubble fields that lay between the cottage and the beach. A rapid walk of fifteen minutes brought her down to the water's edge. But it was now quite dark. Nothing could be more deserted, lonely and desolate than the aspect of this place. From her feet the black waters spread outward, till their utmost boundaries were lost among the blacker vapors of the distant horizon. Afar off a sail, dimly seen or guessed at, glided ghost-like through the shadows. Landward, the boundaries of field and forest, hill and vale, were all blended, fused, in murky obscurity. Heavenward, the lowering sky was darkened by wild, scudding, black clouds, driven by the wind, through which the young moon seemed plunging and hiding as in terror. The tide was coming in, and the waves surged heavily with a deep moan upon the beach. Not a sound was heard except the dull, monotonous moan of the sea, and the fitful, hollow wail of the wind. The character of the scene was in the last degree wild, dreary, gloomy and fearful. Not so, however, it seemed to Marian, who, filled with happy, generous and tumultuous thoughts, was scarcely conscious of the gathering darkness and the lowering storm, as she walked up and down upon the beach, listening and waiting. She wondered that Thurston had not been there ready to receive her; but this thought gave her little uneasiness; it was nearly lost, as the storm and darkness also were, in the brightness and gladness of her own loving, generous emotions. There was no room in her heart for doubt or trouble.

If the thought of the morning's conversation and of Angelica entered her mind, it was only to be soon dismissed with fair construction and cheerful hope. And then she pictured to herself the surprise, the pleasure of Thurston, when he should hear of the accession of fortune which should set them both free to pursue their inclinations and plans for their own happiness and for the benefit of others. And she sought in her bosom if the letters were safe. Yes; there they were; she felt them.

Her happiness had seemed a dream without that proof of its reality. For once she gave way to imagination, and allowed that magician to build castles in the air at will. Thurston and herself must go to England immediately to take possession of the estate; that was certain. Then they must return. But ere that she would confide to him her darling project; one that she had never breathed to any, because to have done so would have been vain; one that she had longingly dreamed of, but never, as now, hoped to realize. And Edith--she would make Edith so comfortable! Edith should be again surrounded with the elegancies and refinements of life. And Miriam--Miriam should have every advantage of education that wealth could possibly secure for her, either in this country or in Europe. If Edith would spare Miriam, the little girl should go with her to England. But Thurston--above all, Thurston! A heavy drop of rain struck Marian in the face, and, for an instant, woke her from her blissful reverie.

She looked up. Why did not Thurston come? The storm would soon burst forth upon the earth; where was Thurston? Were he by her side there would be nothing formidable in the storm, for he would shelter her with his cloak and umbrella, as they should scud along over the fields to the cottage, and reach the fireside before the rain could overtake them.

Where was he? What could detain him at such a time? She peered through the darkness up and down the beach. To her accustomed eye, the features of the landscape were dimly visible. That black form looming like a shadowy giant before her was the headland of Pine Bluff, with its base washed by the sullen waves. It was the only object that broke the dark, dull monotony of the sh.o.r.e. She listened; the moan of the sea, the wail of the wind, were blended in mournful chorus. It was the only sound that broke the dreary silence of the hour.

Hark! No; there was another sound. Amid the moaning and the wailing of winds and waves, and the groaning of the coming storm, was heard the regular fall of oars, soon followed by the slow, grating sound of a boat pushed up upon the frozen strand. Marian paused and strained her eyes through the darkness in the direction of the sound, but could see nothing save the deeper, denser darkness around Pine Bluff. She turned, and, under cover of the darkness, moved swiftly and silently from the locality. The storm was coming on very fast. The rain was falling and the wind rising and driving it into her face. She pulled her hood closely about her face, and wrapped her shawl tightly about her as she met the blast.

Oh! where was Thurston, and why did he not come? She blamed herself for having ventured out; yet could she have foreseen this? No; for she had confidently trusted in his keeping his appointment. She had never known him to fail before. What could have caused the failure now? Had he kept his tryste they would now have been safely housed at Old Field Cottage.

Perhaps Thurston, seeing the clouds, had taken for granted that she would not come, and he had therefore stayed away. Yet, no; she could not for an instant entertain that thought. Well she knew that had a storm risen, and raged as never a storm did before, Thurston, upon the bare possibility of her presence there, would keep his appointment. No; something beyond his control had delayed him. And, unless he should now very soon appear, something very serious had happened to him. The storm was increasing in violence; her shawl was already wet, and she resolved to hurry home.

She had just turned to go when the sound of a man's heavy, measured footsteps, approaching from the opposite direction, fell upon her ear.

She looked up half in dread, and strained her eyes out into the blackness of the night. It was too dark to see anything but the outline of a man's figure wrapped in a large cloak, coming slowly on toward her.

As the man drew near she recognized the well-known figure, air and gait; she had of the ident.i.ty. She hastened to meet him, exclaiming in a low, eager tone:

"Thurston! dear Thurston!"

The man paused, folded his cloak about him, drew up, and stood perfectly still.

Why did he not answer her? Why did he not speak to her? Why did he stand so motionless, and look so strange? She could not have seen the expression of his countenance, even if a flap of his cloak had not been folded across his face; but his whole form shook as with an ague fit.

"Thurston! dear Thurston!" she exclaimed once more, under her breath, as she pressed toward him.

But he suddenly stretched out his hand to repulse her, gasping, as it were, breathlessly, "Not yet--not yet!" and again his whole frame shook with an inward storm. What could be the reason of his strange behavior?

Oh, some misfortune had happened to him--that was evident! Would it were only of a nature that her own good news might be able to cure. And it might be so. Full of this thought, she was again pressing toward him, when a violent flurry of rain and wind whistled before her and drove into her face, concealing him from her view. When the sudden gust as suddenly pa.s.sed, she saw that he remained in the same spot, his breast heaving, his whole form shaking. She could bear it no longer. She started forward and put her arms around his neck, and dropped her head upon his bosom, and whispered in suppressed tones:

"Dearest Thurston, what is the matter? Tell me, for I love you more than life!"