CHAPTER XI.
THE QUESTION OF MARRIAGE.
Maria reached London in the early days of June. Her voyage had beenuneventful, and though long, not unpleasant. Still she was glad to feelthe earth beneath her feet, and the stir of trafficking humanity aroundher. They landed late in the afternoon and she remained with the Gordonsall night, but early the following morning the colonel took her toBloomsbury. Mr. Semple's house was not difficult to find; it was thelargest in the fine square, an imposing mansion of red brick with a wideflight of stone steps leading to its main entrance. This entranceimpressed Maria very much. It was so ample and so handsome.
"I think, indeed," said the Colonel to her, "two sedan chairs couldeasily be taken in, or out, at the same time."
Her welcome, if not effusive, was full of kindness and interest; she wasbrought at once to the sunny parlor at the back of the house where herfather and stepmother were breakfasting, and nothing could have beenmore properly affectionate than the latter's greeting. And although shehad breakfasted with the Gordons, she found it pleasant enough to sitdown beside her father and talk of the voyage and the war, and theconditions of life in America. He was obviously both astonished anddelighted with his daughter; her beauty was so great, her manner socharming, her conversation so full of clever observations, that he felther to be a personal credit. "There are very few young girls soperfectly formed, so admirably finished," he said to himself; and herose and walked loftily about the room, proudly aware of the piquantloveliness and intelligence of the girl who called him father. The wordsounded well in his ears, and even touched his heart; and she herselfwas a crowning grace to his splendid habitation. And for her, and forall her beauties and graces and accomplishments, he took the entirecredit. She was his daughter, as much his property as his wife, or hishouse, or his purse.
This appropriation of herself did not then displease Maria. She waslonging to be loved, longing to be cared for and protected. And sheloved her father, and felt that she could easily love him a great dealmore. His appearance invited this feeling. He was a strikingly handsomeman, though touching fifty years of age, tall and erect like hergrandfather, but with a manner much more haughty and dictatorial. He wasdressed in a dark blue cloth coat lined with white satin and ornamentedwith large gilt buttons; his long vest and breeches were of black satin,his stockings of black silk, and his low shoes clasped with goldlatches. He wore his own hair combed back from his large ruddy face andtied behind with a black ribbon.
His new wife was very suitable to him. She was thirty-eight years oldand distinctly handsome, tall and fair, rather highly colored, anddressed with great care in a morning robe of Indian silk. She was verycheerful and composed, had fine health, lived in the unruffledatmosphere of her interests, and had no nerves worth speaking of--a nicewoman apparently, who would always behave as nice women were then taughtto behave. And yet there were within her elements much at variance withthat habitual subservience she showed her husband. Maria was not long indiscovering that, though she spoke little and never boasted, she got allshe wished to get and did all she wished to do.
After Mr. Semple had gone to business she took Maria to the roomsprepared for her. They were light and airy and prettily furnished, andMrs. Semple pointed out particularly the little sitting-room attached.It contained a small library of books which are now classic, a spinnetfor practice, maps and globes, and a convenient desk furnished with allthe necessary implements for writing or correspondence.
Maria had fully resolved not to be forced into any kind of study, but asshe stood listening to her stepmother's plans and explanations shechanged her mind. She resolved rather to insist on the finest teachersLondon could furnish. She would perfect herself in music and singing;she would enlarge her knowledge and accomplishments in every direction,and all this that she might astonish and please Lord Medway when he camefor her. That he would do so she never doubted; and he could not doubt_her_ love when he saw and heard what she had done to make herself moreworthy of him.
But this incitement she kept to herself. She permitted her father andstepmother to believe that the fulfilling of their desires was her solemotive, and this beautiful obedience gave her much liberty in otherdirections. So the weeks and months went past very pleasantly. She hadan Italian singing master and a French dancing master, Kalkbrenner gaveher music lessons, Madame Jermyn taught her embroidery and lace, and twohours every day were spent in the study of history and geography, andher much neglected grammar. It was all pleasant enough; every master ormistress brought in a fresh element, a little gossip, a differentglimpse of the great city in which they all lived. And the preparationof her studies and the practice of her music gave her almost unboundedcontrol of her time. If things were not agreeable down stairs her studywas a safe retreat, and she began to take off their shelves the booksprovided for her amusement and instruction, and to make friends of themand become familiar with their thoughts and opinions.
The evenings were often spent at the theatre or opera, and still morefrequently at Vauxhall or Ranelagh gardens, and at the latter places shewas always sure of a personal triumph. Her beauty was so remarkable andso admirably set off by her generally fine toilets that she quicklybecame a noted visitor. Sir Horace Walpole had called her on oneoccasion "The American Beauty," and the sobriquet clung like a perfumeto her. When the Semples had a box and a supper in the rotunda the mostnoble and fashionable of the young bloods hung round it, paraded pastit, or when possible took a box in such close proximity that theirtoasts to "The Divine American" could be distinctly or indistinctlyheard. Both Mr. and Mrs. Semple were proud of this notoriety. It wasquite in keeping with the social _elat_ of the age that every glassshould be raised when they entered their box at the theatre or opera;quite honorable and flattering to walk between the admiring beaux whowatched their entry into the gardens. Maria gave them distinction,exhilarating notice and attention. She was spoken of in the papers as"the lovely Miss Semple, the beautiful daughter of our new collector,"and her _debut_ at the next spring functions of the Court wasconfidently predicted.
The break in this generally agreeable life came, of course, through aman's selfish desires, dignified with the name of love. Mrs. Semple hada cousin who was largely engaged in the Mediterranean trade--thenentirely in English hands--and when Maria had been about eighteen monthsin London he returned to that city after a sojourn in Turkey and theGreek islands of nearly three years. He had been named at intervals toMaria, but his existence had made no impression upon her, and she wasastonished on coming to the dinner table one day to meet him there. Theinstinct of conquest was immediately aroused; she smiled and he wassubdued. The man who had snubbed Turkish bashaws and won concessionsfrom piratical beys in Tunis and Algiers was suddenly afraid of a woman.He might have run away, but he did not; he was under a spell, and hewent with her to the opera, and became her willing slave thereafter.
Now during her residence in London, Maria had had many admirers; someshe had frowned away, some her father had bowed out, but Richard Spencerwas a very different man to be reckoned with. He was Mrs. Semple'scousin, and Mrs. Semple was strongly attached to every member of herfamily. Cousin Richard's suit was advocated, pressed, even insisted uponby her. He was present at every meal and went with them to everyentertainment, and the generality of Maria's admirers understood that hewas her accepted lover.
In fact, this relationship was speedily assumed by the whole Semplehousehold, and before the man had even had the courage to ask her to behis wife she was made to understand that her marriage to Cousin Richardwas a consummation certain and inevitable. Of course she rebelled,treating the supposition at first as an absurdity, and, when thisattitude was resented and punished, as an impossibility.
The affair soon became complicated with business relations and importantmoney interests, Mr. Semple becoming a silent partner in the giganticventures of the Spencer Company. He had always felt, even in Maria'ssocial triumphs, a proprietary share; she was his daughter, he couldgive or refuse her society to a
ll who asked it. She had never denied hispower to dismiss all the pretenders to her favor that had as yet askedit. He considered himself to have an equal right to grant her hand tothe suitor he thought proper for her.
And as his interests became more and more associated with Mr. Spencer'she became more and more positive in Mr. Spencer's favor. There waslittle need then for Mrs. Semple's diplomacies. He had "taken thematter in his own hands" he said, "and he should carry it through."
For some time Maria did not really believe that her father andstepmother were in earnest, but on her twentieth birthday the positionwas made painfully clear, for when she came to the breakfast table herfather kissed her, an unusual token of affection, and put into her handan order on his banker for a large sum of money.
"It is for your wedding clothes, Maria," he said, "and I wish you tohave the richest and best of everything. Such jewels as I thinknecessary I will buy for you myself. Our relatives and friends will dinewith you to-day and I shall announce your engagement."
"But father!" she exclaimed, "I do not want to marry. Let me return thismoney. Indeed, I cannot spend it for wedding clothes. The idea is soabsurd! I do not want to marry."
"Maria, you are twenty years old this twenty-fifth of November. It istime you settled yourself. Mr. Spencer will have his new house ready bythe end of next June. As nearly as I can tell, your marriage to him willtake place on the twenty-ninth of June. Your mother thinks that with thehelp of needlewomen your clothing can be finished by that time."
"I told Mr. Spencer a month ago that I would not marry him."
"All right; girls always say such things. It appears modest, and youhave a certain privilege in this respect. But I advise you not to carrysuch pretty affectations too far."
"Father, I do not love Mr. Spencer."
"He loves you, that is the necessary point. It is not proper, it is notrequisite that a girl should take love into her consideration. I havechosen for you a good husband, a man who will probably be Lord Mayor ofLondon within a few years, and the prospect of such an honor ought tocontent you."
It is difficult for an American girl at this time to conceive of thesituation of the daughters of England in the year 1782. The law gavethem absolutely into their father's power until they were twenty-oneyears old; and the law was stupendously strengthened and upheld byuniversal public approval, and by barriers of social limitations thatfew women had the daring to cross. Maria was environed by influencesthat all made for her total subjection to her parent's will, and at thistime she ventured no further remark. But her whole nature was insurgent,and she mentally promised herself that neither on the twenty-ninth ofJune nor on any other day that followed it would she marry RichardSpencer.
After breakfast she went to her room to consider her position, and noone prevented her withdrawal.
"It is the best thing she can do," said Mr. Semple to his wife. "Alittle reflection will show her the hopeless folly of resistance to mycommands."
"Her behavior is not flattering to Richard."
"Richard has more sense than to notice it. He said to me that 'there wasalways a little chaffering before a good bargain.' He understandswomen."
"Maria has been brought up badly. She has dangerous ideas about theclaims and privileges and personal rights of women."
"Balderdash! Claims of women, indeed! Give them the least power, andthey would stake the world away for a whim. See that she dresses herselfproperly for dinner. I have told her I shall then announce herengagement, and in the midst of all our relatives and friends she willnot dare to deny it."
In a great measure Mr. Semple was correct. Maria was not ready to denyit, nor did she think the relatives and friends had anything to do withher private affairs. She made no answer whatever to her father's noticeof her approaching marriage, and the congratulations of the company fellupon her consciousness like snowflakes upon a stone wall. They meantnothing at all to her.
The day following Mrs. Semple went to buy the lawn and linen and lacenecessary for the wedding garments. Maria would not accompany her; herstepmother complained and Maria was severely reprimanded, and for a fewdays thoroughly frightened. But a constant succession of such scenesblunted her sense of fear. She remembered her grandfather's brave words,"Be strong and of good courage," and gradually gathered herself togetherfor the struggle she saw to be inevitable. To break her promise to LordMedway! That was a thing she never would do! No, not even the law ofEngland should make her utter words false to every true feeling she had.And day by day this resolve grew stronger, as day by day it wasconfronted by a trial she hardly dared to contemplate.
There was no one to whom she could go for advice or sympathy. Mrs.Gordon was in Scotland, where her husband had an estate, and she had noother intimate friend. But at the worst, it was only another year andthen she would be her own mistress and Ernest Medway would come andmarry her. Of this result she never had one doubt. True, she heard verylittle from him; but if not one word had come to assure her she wouldstill have been confident that he would keep his word, if alive to doso. Letter-writing was not then the easily practised relief it is now,and she knew Lord Medway disliked it. Yet she was not without even theseevidences of his remembrance, and considering the conditions of thecountry in which they had been written, the great distance between them,the difficulty of getting letters to New York and the uncertainty ofgetting letters from New York to England, these evidences of hisaffection had been fairly numerous. All of them had come enclosed in herUncle Neil's letters, and without mention or explanation, for Neil wassympathetically cautious and did not know what effect they might have onthe life of Maria, though he did not know _his_ letters were sure to beinquired after and read by her parents.
They were intensely symbolic of a man who preferred to _do_ rather thanto _say_, and are fairly represented by the three quoted:
* * * * *
"SWEETEST MARIA: Have you forgiven your adoring lover? ERNEST."
* * * * *
"MY LITTLE DARLING: I have been wounded. I have been ill with fever; butno pain is like the pain of living away from you.
ERNEST."
* * * * *
"STAR OF MY LIFE: I have counted the days until the twenty-fifth ofNovember; they are two hundred and fifty-five. Every day I come nearerto you, my adorable Maria.
ERNEST."
* * * * *
This last letter was dated March the fourteenth, and with it lying nexther heart, was it likely she would consent to or even be compelled tomarry Richard Spencer? She smiled a positive denial of such asupposition. But for all that, the preparations went on with a stubbornpersistence that would have dismayed a weaker spirit. The plans forfurnishing the Spencer house, the patterns of the table silver, all thelittle items of the new life proposed for her were as a matter of dutysubmitted to her taste or judgment. She was always stolidly indifferent,and her answer was invariably the same, "I do not care. It is nothing tome." Then Mr. Semple would answer with cold authority, "You haveexcellent taste, Elizabeth. Make the selection you think best forMaria."
Mr. Spencer's method was entirely different. He treated Maria'sapathetic unconcern with constant good nature, pretended to believe itmaidenly modesty, and under all circumstances refused to understand orappropriate her evident dislike. But his cousin saw the angry sparkle inhis black eyes, and to her he had once permitted himself to say, "I ambearing _now_, Elizabeth. When she is Mrs. Spencer it will be her turnto bear." And Elizabeth did not think it necessary to repeat the veiledthreat to Maria's father.
Medway's last letter, dated March the fourteenth, did not reach Mariauntil May the first. On the morning of that day she had been told byMrs. Semple to dress and accompany her to Bond Str
eet.
"We are going to choose your wedding dress," she said, "and I do hope,Maria, you will take some interest in it. I have spoken to Madame Delamyabout the fashion and trimmings, and your father says I am to spare noexpense."
"I will not have anything to do in choosing a wedding dress. I will notwear it if it is made."
"I think it is high time you stopped such outrageous insults to yourintended husband, your father and myself. I am astonished your fatherendures them. Many parents would consider you insane and put you underrestraint."
"I can hardly be under greater restraint," answered Maria calmly, butthere was a cold, sick terror at her heart. Nevertheless she refused totake any part in the choosing of the wedding dress, and Mrs. Semple wentalone to make the selection.
But Maria was at last afraid. "Under restraint!" She could not get thewords out of her consciousness. Surely her dear grandfather had had someprescience of this grave dilemma when he told her if she was not treatedright to come back to him. But how was she to manage a return to NewYork? Women then did not travel, could not travel, alone. No ships wouldtake her without companions or authority. She did not know the first ofthe many steps necessary, she had no money. She was, in fact, quite inthe position of a little child left to its own helplessness in a greatcity. The Gordons would be likely to come to London before the winter,but until then she could find neither ways nor means for a return to NewYork. All she could do was to take day by day the steps thatcircumstances rendered imperative.
The buying of the wedding dress brought things so terribly close to herthat she finally resolved to tell her father and stepmother of herengagement to Lord Medway. "I will take the first opportunity," she saidto herself, and the opportunity came that night. Mr. Spencer was notpresent. They dined alone, and Mr. Semple was indulging one of thosetempers which made him, as his father had said to Neil, "gey ill to livewith." He had been told of Maria's behavior about the wedding dress, andthe thundery aspect of his countenance during the meal found speech assoon as the table was cleared and they were alone. He turned almostsavagely to his daughter and asked in a voice of low intensity:
"What do you mean, Miss, by your perverse temper? Why did you not gowith your mother to choose your wedding dress?"
"Because it is not my wedding dress, sir. I have told you for many weeksthat I will not marry Mr. Spencer;" then with a sudden access ofcourage, _"and I will not_. I am the promised wife of Lord Medway."
Mr. Semple laughed, and then asked scornfully, "And pray, who is LordMedway?"
"He is my lover; my husband on the twenty-ninth of next November."
All the passion and pride of a lifetime glowed in the girl's face. Hervoice was clear and firm, and at that hour she was not a bit afraid. "Iwill tell you about him," she continued, and her attitude had in thosefew minutes so far dominated her audience that she obtained the hearingshe might otherwise not have gained. Rapidly, but with singular dramaticpower, she related the story of her life in New York--her friendshipwith Agnes Bradley, the attraction between herself and Harry Bradley,his arrest, trial and death sentence, Lord Medway's interference and herown engagement, her subsequent intimacy with the man she had promised tomarry, and the love which had sprung up in her heart for him.
"And I will not break my word, not a letter of it," she said inconclusion.
"If there was any truth in this story," answered her father, "who caresfor a woman's promises in love matters? They are not worth the breaththat made them."
"My promise to Lord Medway, father, rests on my honor. I could give himno security but my word. I must keep my word."
"A woman's honor! A woman's word to a lover! Pshaw! Let us hear no moreof such rant. What do you think of this extraordinary story, Elizabeth?"
"I think it is a dream, a fabrication. Maria has imagined it. Who knowsLord Medway? I never heard tell of such a person."
"Nevertheless, he will come for me on the twenty-fifth of November,"said Maria.
"Long before that time you will be Mrs. Richard Spencer," answered herfather.
"I declare to you, father, I will not. You may carry me to the altar,that is as far as you can go; you cannot make me speak. I will not sayone word that makes me Richard Spencer's wife. I entreat you not toforce such a trial on me. It will make me the town's talk, you also."
"Do not dare to consider me as a part of such a mad scene. Go to yourroom at once, before I--before I make you."
She fled before his passion, and terrified and breathless locked thedoor upon her sorrow. But she was not conquered. In fact, her resolutionhad gained an invincible strength by the mere fact of its utterance.Words had given it substance, form, even life, and she felt that now shewould give her own life rather than relinquish her resolve.
In reality her confidence did her case no good. Mr. Semple easilyadopted the opinion of his wife that Maria had invented the story todefer what she could not break off. "And you know, Alexander," sheadded, "those Gordons will be back before the date she has fixed thispretended lover to appear, and in my opinion they are capable ofencouraging Maria to all lengths against your lawful authority. As formyself, I am sure Mrs. Gordon disliked me on sight, I know I dislikedher, and Maria was rebellious the whole time they were in London. Iwonder Richard does not break off the wedding, late as it is."
"I should not permit him to do so, even if he felt inclined. But he isas resolute as myself. Why, Elizabeth, we two men should be thelaughing-stock of the town for a twelvemonth if we allowed a chit of agirl to master us. It is unthinkable. Go on with the necessarypreparations. The Spencers living in Durham and in Kendal must benotified at once. The greater the company present the more impossible itwill be for her to carry out her absurd threat. And even if she will notspeak, silence gives consent. I shall tell the clergyman to proceed."
After this there were no more pretenses of any kind. Maria's reluctanceto her marriage was openly acknowledged to the household, and herdisobedience complained of and regretted. Among the two men-servants andthree maids there was not one who sympathized with her. The men weremarried and had daughters, from whom they expected implicit obedience.The women wondered what the young mistress wanted: "A man with suchblack eyes and nice, curly hair," said the cook, "any proper girl wouldlike; so free with his jokes and his money, too; six foot tall, and wellset up as ever I saw a man. And the fine house he is giving her, and thefine things of all kinds he sends her! Oh, she's a proud, set-up littlething as ever came my way!" These remarks and many more of the same kindfrom the powers in the kitchen indicated the sentiment of the wholehouse, and Maria felt the spirit of opposition to her, though it was notexpressed.
She could only endure it and affect not to notice what was beyond herpower to prevent. But she wrote to her Uncle Neil and desired him to seeLord Medway and tell him exactly how she was situated. In this lettershe declared in the most positive manner her resolve not to marry Mr.Spencer, and described the uneasiness which her stepmother's remarkabout "restraint" had caused her. And this letter, with one to Mrs.Gordon, were the only outside influences she had any power to reach.
At length the twenty-eighth day of June arrived. The Spencer house wasfilled with relatives from the Northern and Midland countries, and inMaria's home the wedding feast was already prepared. A huge wedding cakewas standing on the sideboard, and in the middle of the afternoon herwedding dress came home. Mrs. Semple brought it herself to Maria andspread out its shimmering widths of heavy white satin and the costlylace to be worn with it.
"It is sure to fit you, Maria," she said. "Madame Delamy made it fromyour gray cloth dress, which you know is perfect every way. Will you tryit on? I will help you."
"No, thank you. I would as willingly try my shroud on."
"I think you are very selfish and unkind. You know that I am not well;indeed, I feel scarcely able to bear the fatigue of the ceremony, andyou are turning what ought to be a pleasure to your father and every oneelse into a fear and a weariness."
She did not answer her stepmother,
but in the hurry of preparationsgoing on down stairs she sought her father and found him resting in thefreshly decorated drawing-room. He was sitting with closed eyes andevidently trying to sleep. She stood a little way from him, and withmany bitter tears made her final appeal. "Say I am ill, father, forindeed I am, and stop this useless preparation. It is all fordisappointment and sorrow."
He listened without denial or interruption to her words, but when sheceased in a passion of weeping he answered, "There is no turning backand there is no delay, Maria. You are very silly to cry over theinevitable, especially when both my love and wisdom decide that theinevitable is good for you. You will certainly be married to RichardSpencer to-morrow morning. Prepare yourself for ten o'clock. I shallcome to your study for you at five minutes before ten. At nine o'clockMadame Delamy will send two women to arrange your dress. See that youare ready in time. Good night."
There was nothing now to be done in the way of prevention, and a dull,sullen anger took the place of entreaty in Maria's mind. "If they willset my back to the wall, they shall see I can fight," she thought, asshe wretchedly took her way to her room. The beauteous gown was shiningon her bed, and she passionately tossed it aside and lay down and fellasleep. When she awoke it was morning, a gusty, rainy morning withglints of sunshine between the showers. She was greatly depressed, andnot a little frightened. What she had to do she determined to do, butoh! what would come after it? Then she was shocked to find that thescene she was resolved to enact, though gone over so often in her mind,slipped away from her consciousness whenever she tried to recall orarrange it. For a few minutes she was in a mood to be driven against herwill, and she fully realized this condition. "I must be strong and ofgood courage," she whispered. "I must cease thinking and planning. Imust leave this thing to be done till the moment comes to do it. I amonly wasting my strength."
Fortunately, she was continually interrupted. Coffee was sent to herroom. Then the hairdresser arrived, and the women to robe her for theceremony. She was quite passive in their hands, and when her fatherappeared, ready to answer his "Come, Maria."
The parlors were crowded with the Spencers and their friends, andcongratulations sounded fitfully in her ears as carriage after carriagerolled away to St. Margaret's Church. Mr. Semple and Maria were in thelast coach, and his wife and the bridegroom in the one immediatelybefore them. So that when they arrived at the church, the company werealready grouped around the communion railing.
Maria felt like a soul in a bad dream; she was just aware when she leftthe carriage that it was raining heavily, and that her father took herarm and sharply bid her to "lift her wedding dress from the plashypavement." She made a motion with her hand, but failed to grasp it, andthen she was walking up the gloomy aisle, she was at the rail, theclergyman was standing before her, the bridegroom at her side, thecompany all about her. There was prayer, and she felt the pressure ofher father's hand force her to her knees; and then there was a constantmurmur of voices, and a spell like that which held her during her lastinterview with Lord Medway was upon her. But suddenly she rememberedthis fateful apathy, and the memory was like movement in a nightmare.The instant she recognized it the influence was broken and she wasalmost painfully conscious of Richard Spencer's affirmative:
"I will."
She knew then what was coming and what she had to do, and those whowatched her saw the girl lift herself erect and listen to the priestasking those solemnly momentous questions which were to bind her foreverto obey Richard Spencer, to love and honor him, and in sickness andhealth, forsaking all others, keep unto him as long as she lived. Shehad but to say two words and her promise would be broken, her lover lostand her life made wretched beyond hope.
"But I will never say them!" and this passionate assurance to her soulgave her all the strength she needed. When the clergyman stoppedspeaking she looked straight into his face and in a voice low, butperfectly distinct, answered:
"I will not."
There was a moment's startled pause. Her father's voice broke it:
"Go on, sir."
But before this was possible Maria continued:
"I am the promised wife of another man. I do not love this man. I willnot marry him."
Her eyes, full of pitiful entreaty, held the clergyman's eyes. He lookedsteadily at the company and said, "God's law and the laws of this realmforbid this marriage until such time as the truth of this allegation betried." And with these words he walked to the altar, laid the Book ofCommon Prayer upon it, and then disappeared in the vestry.
Before he did so, however, there was a shrill, sharp cry of mortal pain,and Mrs. Semple was barely saved by her husband's promptitude fromfalling prone on the marble aisle before the chancel. Immediately allwas confusion. The sick woman was carried insensible to her coach. Mr.Spencer took his sobbing sister on his arm, and the guests broke up intocouples. With hurrying feet, amazed, ashamed, all talking together, theysought the vehicles that were to carry them away from a scene so painfuland so unexpected. Maria sat down in the nearest pew and waited to seewhat would happen. She heard carriage after carriage roll away, and thenrealized that every one had deserted her.
In about twenty minutes the sexton began to close the church, and sheasked him, "Has nobody waited for me?"
"No, miss, you be here alone." Then she took a ring from her finger andoffered it to him: "Get me a closed carriage and I will give you thisring," she said, but he answered:
"Nay, I want no ring from a little lass in trouble. I'll get thecarriage, and you may drop into the church some better day to pay me."
She went back home in the midst of a thunderstorm. The day was darkened,the rain driven furiously by the wind, and yet when she reached herfather's house the front entrance stood open and there was neither mennor women servants in sight. She ran swiftly to her room, locked thedoor and sank into a chair, spent with fear and sick with apprehension.What had happened? What would be done to her? "Oh, to be back in NewYork!" she cried. "Nobody there would force a poor girl into misery andmake a prayer over it, and a feast about it."
A sudden movement of her head showed her Maria Semple in her weddingdress. She turned herself quickly from the glass, and with frantic hasteunfastened the gown and hung it up. All the trinkets in which they haddressed her were as quickly removed, and she was not satisfied until shehad cast off every symbol of the miserably frustrated marriage. But ashour after hour passed and no one came near her she became sick withterror, and she was also faint with hunger and thirst. Something must beventured, some one must be seen; she felt that she would loseconsciousness if she was left alone much longer.
After repeatedly ringing her bell, it was answered by one of the women."I want some tea, Mary, and some meat and bread. What is the matter withevery one?"
"The doctors do say as Mrs. Semple is dying, and the master is like aman out of his mind." The woman spoke with an air of distinctdispleasure, if not dislike, but she brought the food and tea to Maria,and without further speech left her to consider what she had been told.
Oh, how long were the gloomy hours of the day! How much longer those ofthe terrible night! The very atmosphere was full of pain and fear;lights were passing up and down, and footsteps and inarticulatemovements, all indicating the great struggle between life and death. AndMaria lay dressed upon her bed, sleepless, listening and watching, andseeing always in the dim rushlight that white shimmering gown splashedwith rain, and hanging limply by one sleeve. It grew frightful to her,threatening, uncanny, and she finally tore it angrily down and flung itinto a closet.
MARIA LAY DRESSED UPON HER BED.]
But the weariest suspense comes to some end finally, and just as dawnbroke there was a sudden change. The terror and the suffering were over;peace stole through every room in the house, for a man child was born tothe house of Semple.
A Song of a Single Note: A Love Story Page 11