The Bridal

The week went by as all weeks will, whether laden with happiness
or pain, and the rosy light of the 15th morning broke over the New
England hills and over Collingwood, where the servants, headed by
Grace Atherton, were all astir, and busy with their preparations
for the festive scene of the coming night. Edith had made
strenuous efforts to have the party given up, sending message
after message to Richard, who, without any good reason for it, was
determined upon this one point, and always answered "No."

He had adhered to his resolution of staying in his room, and Edith
had not seen him since the eventful day when he had made the great
sacrifice. Arthur, however, was admitted daily to his presence,
always coming from those interviews with a sad look upon his face,
as if his happiness were not unmixed with pain. And still Richard
tried to be cheerful, talking but little of Edith, and appearing
so calm when he did mention her, that a casual observer would have
said he did not care.

In the village nothing was talked about save the change of
bridegrooms and the approaching wedding, and when the morning
came, others than the inmates of Collingwood were busy and
excited.

It was a glorious day, for leafy June had donned her gala robes
for the occasion, and every heart, save one, beat with joy, as the
sun rose higher and higher in the heavens, nearer and nearer the
appointed hour. Richard could not be glad, and that bridal day was
the saddest he had ever known. Not even Arthur was permitted to be
with him, and none save Victor saw the white, still anguish
creeping over his face as hour after hour went by, and from the
sounds without he knew that they had come whose business it was to
array his Edith in her bridal robes of costly satin and fleecy
lace.