Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/34

A HASTY MARRIAGE. 39 the ball-room floor, and I was laughing lightly; in Walter Drummond's grave face.

That was a triumphant night—my last though it might be; may, for that reason I would not be robbed of a second.. The music had never seemed so sweet and so intoxicating, the guests so happy, the rooms so bright and festal before; and, alas! never had I so prized the delightful enjoyments they offered as now that I must re- linquish them. How would it seem to be poor, and leave all these splendors behind? to sink into the ranks of the workers and toilers who uphold this gay society; to be forgotten by these refined and educated women, and these well-bred men? What would life be worth, to the quick- beating blood of youth, divested of this flush of splendor and of joy?

I could not live without it, I felt each moment more truly, as I breathed that enchanting atmos- phere of praise and flattery; and yet, it seemed, I must, At every interval in dancing, at every pause in the music, the black shadow of to- morrow haunted me like a ghost at the banquet, and whispered dolefully in my ears.

But pride compelled me to hide my wound, and with the very effort my spirits rose higher. I would not bow to the tempest of trouble whirl- ing over me; I would not see the glances of pity and sympathy cast upon me; I would not understand the compassionate sentences ad- dressed to me—indeed, I hardly heard them. The few hours that still intervened between me and banishment were my own—I chose to enjoy them to the utmost, to reign in them like a queen, and use them royally.

Supper went off gayly. Walter Drummond was my escort, almost lover-like in his atten- tions, as usual; and Mr. Harter, the self-made nillionare, my neighbor.on the other side. He, too, was very kind in his way. He talked to me. I was surprised at his sweet voice and correct intonation. He sent away my cham- pagne, ordering some still, iced-wine of his own servant. I was sure he was right, for he looked at me with a sort of pitying intentness of interest that won me to obedience—and I felt my head already dizzy between triumph and pain.

Other heads, less racked than mine, were dizzied, too, by Mr. M‘Donald’s generous vin- tages. When we returned to the dancing-room the band was set aside; a series of Christmas- games began, impromptu tableaux followed— Statues, charades. In the last they wanted a marriage-scene—a runaway couple before a Village magistrate, or something of that sort.

A fat neighbor of Mr. M‘Donald’s, snoring comfortably before the library-fire, answered to the character of the magistrate, and messengers were dispatched te request him to serve. Meanwhile public opinion ran high on the question of the bride—the honor being contested between a dozen young ladies in white. All unconcerned, I was talking in a window-seat to my companions at supper. Suddenly I found my place surrounded.

“Sylvia, you must come—you are in white; it will be just the thing—and Mr, Harter,”

“But I am not——”

“Oh! yes you are—the very person! It is the elder of her two lovers she runs away with, you know.”

They put a cloak on his arm, and a sword in his hand, and placed my unresisting fingers in his, The squire marshaled us solemnly before him, and the curtain was about to ascend, when some slight altercation arose between the lady managers, and the scene was suspended for a mement. Walter Drummond took advantage of the interval to come to my side,

“Sylvia,” he whispered, pressing my arm earnestly, “this thing is very real. The squire is a legal magistrate, and has had too much wine. What will you do if he marries you in earnest, for no license is required in this State?”

But Mr. Harter had heard him and turned. Clasping my hand more closely in his, he looked into my eyes with a sudden sparkle in his own.

“And if he did—what then? Could you take me, Sylvia?”

“Don’t jest,” cried Walter, impatiently; but his voice faltered.

“It is no jest,” said Mr. Harter, quietly, my hand still locked in his. “Sylvia, you hear me? The question is between us. I have heard your story; I think he is right, and I ask you to risk it, knowingly, with me?”

I heard, but could not answer, nor move while he held me so firmly; but I looked at him an instant, half in fear, half in surprise. He had never seemed so nearly being handsome as at that momeat. A warm flush colored his dark cheek; his black eyes bent eagerly and anxiously on me, were softened by a pitying and kind, almost a fond expression; his voice was very sweet and low as he spoke. In that light, and in that picturesque attitude and costume, his tall, broad figure showed graceful and commanding. I had not time to reflect calmly. I only thought that here was a shield offered against the dread future. The hand so firmly holding mine could pluck me back from the gulf that yawned before me to-morrow,

That moment of indecision was final and