Love retired into his room and sat down beside the window to brood over his great happiness.
Something like humility blended with his grateful thoughts.
Who was he, what had he done, that Heaven should be so good to him, giving him the fairest, truest, sweetest girl in the world for his adored and loving bride?
He lifted his dark, dreamy eyes to the moonlit heavens and prayed reverentially:
"God make me worthy of the prize I have won!"
From the next room he could hear the low murmur of voices, as Dainty conversed with her mother in happy tones; but by and by all grew silent, as the fair girl sank to sleep, nestling against her mother's heart for the last time, for to-morrow would give her to her husband's arms.
Love heard the clock in the tower chime the midnight hour, and retired to dream of the happiness that would be his to-morrow.
And never came fairer dreams of the future to any lover's heart, as surely no lover's heart had ever been so bound up in its beauteous idol.
"Love thee? So well, so tenderly
Thou'rt loved, adored by me,
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty
Were worthless without thee.
Though brimmed with blessings pure and rare
Life's cup before me lay,
Unless thy love were mingled there,
I'd spurn the draught away.
"Without thy smile the monarch's lot
To me were dark and lone,
While, with it, even the humblest cot
Were brighter than his throne.
Those words for which the conqueror sighs
For me would have no charms;
My only world thy gentle eyes,
My throne thy circling arms."
Wrapped in blissful dreams, he slumbered on till the night passed away. The morning dawned and the sun rode high in the heavens ere he started, broad awake, remembering that this was his wedding-day, and that he had overslept himself.
Indeed, at that moment, some one tapped on the door, and the voice of Harry Chilton, his cousin and best man, called out, gayly:
"Heavens, man! what can you mean by sleeping to within two hours of your wedding?"
"Is it possible?" cried Love, looking at his clock, and finding that the assertion was quite true.
He opened the door to his cousin, and they became immediately immersed in preparations for the ceremony which was to take place in the large parlor at nine o'clock, to be followed by the splendid wedding-breakfast.
The great house was in a hubbub of excitement with the final preparations and the dressing of the guests; but the bride's door had never opened yet, though no one thought strange of that, for she had gently declined all offers of assistance at her toilet, saying that mamma would do all that was necessary.
Never had there been a fairer morn for a birthday bridal. Not the slightest cloud marred the deep-blue sky; the sun shone in radiant splendor on the dewy flowers and the green earth, and the little birds seemed almost to know that there was to be a wedding, they warbled so persistently in the joy of their little hearts.
Time wore on till it lacked but fifteen minutes to the ceremony. The house was thronged with the wedding-guests, and the bishop of the diocese had arrived to perform the ceremony. The musicians were getting ready to play the wedding-march.
Love was all ready, looking faultlessly handsome in his wedding-suit, and he began to grow impatient because he had received no message from his darling that morning.
"How strange if she and her mother have overslept themselves! I will go and knock on the door," he said, suiting the action to the words.
He could not hear the least sound in the room, and he received no answer to his knock. He rapped impatiently again.
"Dainty! Mrs. Chase!" he called, anxiously, several times.
But there was no reply.
He bent his ear to the key-hole, but there was not a sound within the bride's room--all was still as the grave.
The handsome bridegroom grew pale and alarmed, crying out to his best man, who stood by his side:
"Surely something has happened, for I have heard not a sound from the room. We must force the door."
They put their shoulders against it; the lock yielded, it flew open, and they stood within the room.
The curtains and the shutters were closely drawn, and the night-lamp flickered dimly behind a screen. At one end of the room several chairs were littered with the wedding finery--the tiny white silken hose and slippers, the satin gown, the misty thread-lace veil.
In the midst of it all, Mrs. Chase lay on the bed, sleeping heavily, but Dainty was nowhere to be seen.
Love stood looking about him, pale and alarmed, but it was Harry Chilton who first caught sight of a note pinned on the pillow, and drew Love's attention to it.
"She is gone. Perhaps that may explain," he said.
Love caught up the note from the pillow, and read with staring eyes:
"DEAR MR. ELLSWORTH,--I have deceived you, and I can not keep the farce up any longer. I never loved you, never; but mamma always told me to get a rich husband if I could, and I was going to marry you for your money, knowing I would be a wretched wife, because all my heart was given to another.
"But last evening I met my lover in the grounds, and he persuaded me to go away with him. When this reaches you, I shall be his happy bride. We will be poor, but we shall have love to cheer us. Forgive me, and don't let the wedding be spoiled. Marry Olive or Ela.
"DAINTY."
Once in a lifetime a man may excusably swoon. Lovelace Ellsworth fell heavily to the floor like an insensate log.
