The Bridal

'Twas Mabel's wedding night, and in one of the upper rooms of Mr.
Livingstone's house she stood awaiting the summons to the parlor.
They had arrayed her for the bridal; Mrs. Livingstone, Carrie, 'Lena,
Anna, and the seamstress, all had had something to do with her
toilet, and now they had left her for a time with him who was so soon
to be her husband. She knew--for they had told her--she was looking
uncommonly well. Her dress, of pure white satin, was singularly
becoming; pearls were interwoven in the heavy braids of her raven
hair; the fleecy folds of the rich veil, which fell like a cloud
around her, swept the floor. In her eye there was an unusual sparkle
and on her cheek an unwonted bloom.

Still Mabel was not happy. There was a heavy pain at her heart--a
foreboding of coming evil--and many an anxious glance she cast toward
the stern, silent man, who, with careless tread, walked up and down
the room, utterly regardless of her presence, and apparently absorbed
in bitter reflections. Once only had she ventured to speak, and
then, in childlike simplicity, she had asked him "how she looked."

"Well enough," was his answer, as, without raising his eyes, he
continued his walk.

The tears gathered in Mabel's eyes--she could not help it; drop after
drop they came, falling upon the marble table, until John Jr., who
saw more than he pretended, came to her side, asking "why she wept."

Mabel was beginning to be terribly afraid of him, and for a moment
she hesitated, but at length, summoning all her courage, she wound
her arms about his neck, and in low, earnest tones said, "Tell me
truly, do you wish to marry me?"