The Masked Bridal

  CHAPTER XXXIX.

  CONCLUSION.

  Three months after the incidents related in our previous chapter alarge and fashionable audience assembled, one bright day, in a certainchurch on Madison avenue to witness a marriage that had beenanticipated with considerable interest and curiosity among the smartset.

  Exactly at the last stroke of noon the bridal party passed down thecentral aisle.

  It was composed of four ushers, as many bridesmaids a maid of honorand two stately, graceful figures in snow-white apparel.

  One of these latter was a veiled bride, her tall, willowy figure cladin gleaming satin, her golden head crowned with natural orangeblossoms, and she carried an exquisite bouquet of the same fragrantflowers in her ungloved hands--for the groom had forbidden theconventional white kids in this ceremony--while on her lovely facethere was a light and sweetness which only perfect happiness couldhave painted there.

  Her companion, a woman of regal presence and equally beautiful in herway, was clothed in costly white velvet, richly garnished with pearlsand rare old point lace.

  The fair bride and her attendant were no other than Isabel Stewart andher daughter.

  "Who should give away my darling save her own mother?" she hadquestioned, with smiling but tremulous lips, when this matter wasbeing discussed, together with other preparations for the wedding.

  Edith was delighted with the idea, and thus it was carried out in theway described.

  The party was met at the chancel by Roy, accompanied by his best manand the clergyman, where the ceremony was impressively performed,after which the happy couple led the way from the church with thosesweetest strains of Mendelssohn beating their melodious rhythm upontheir ears and joyful hearts.

  It was an occasion for only smiles and gladness; but, away in a dimcorner of that vast edifice, there sat a solitary figure, with bowedhead and pale face, over which--as there fell upon his ears thosesolemn words, "till death us do part"--hot tears streamed like rain.

  The figure was Gerald Goddard. He had read the announcement of Edith'smarriage in the papers, and, with an irresistible yearning to see herin her bridal robes, he had stolen into the church with the crowd, andhidden himself where he could see without being seen.

  But the scene was too much for him, for, as he watched that peerlesswoman and her beautiful daughter move down the aisle, and listened tothe reverent responses of the young couple, there came to him, withterrible force, the consciousness that if he had been true to the samevows which he had once taken upon himself he need not now have beenshut out of this happy scene, like some lost soul shut out of heaven.

  But no one heeded him; and, when the ceremony was over, he slippedaway as secretly as he had come, and no one dreamed that the father ofthe beautiful bride had been an unbidden guest at her wedding.

  In giving Edith to Roy Mrs. Stewart had begged that she need not beseparated from her newly recovered treasure--that for the present, atleast, they would make their home with her--or, rather, that theywould take the house, which was to be a part of Edith's dowry, andallow her to remain with them as their guest.

  This they were only too glad to do; therefore, after a delightfulwedding trip through the West, they came back to their elegant home,where, with every luxury at their command, the future seemed topromise unlimited happiness.

  Poor Louis Raymond had failed very rapidly during the spring months;indeed, he was not even able to attend the marriage of the girl forwhom he had formed a strong attachment, and who had bestowed upon himmany gracious attentions and services that had greatly brightened hislast days. He passed quietly away only a few weeks after their returnto New York.

  One day, a couple of months after her marriage, Edith was about tostep into her carriage, on coming out of a store on Broadway, whereshe had been shopping, when she was startled by excited shouts andcries directly across the street from her.

  Turning to see what had caused the commotion, she saw a heavily loadedteam just toppling over, while a man, who had been in the act ofcrossing the street, was borne down under it, and, with a shriek whichshe never forgot, apparently crushed to death.

  Sick and faint with horror, she crept into her carriage, and orderedher driver to get away from the dreadful scene as soon as possible.

  That same evening, as she was looking over the _Telegram_, a low cryof astonishment broke from her, as she read the following paragraph:

  "A sad accident occurred on Broadway this morning. A carelessly loadedteam was overturned by its own top-heaviness as it was rounding thecorner of Twenty-ninth street, crushing beneath its cruel weight thetalented young sculptor, Emil Correlli. Both legs were broken, one intwo places, and it is feared that he has suffered fatal internalinjuries. He was taken in an unconscious state to the RooseveltHospital, where he now lies hovering between life and death. Thesurgeons have little hope of his recovery."

  Edith was greatly shocked by the account, notwithstanding her aversionto the man.

  She had not supposed that he was in the city, for Roy believed that hehad left the country, rather than appear to defend himself againstGiulia's claims, and to escape paying the damages the court awardedher, after proclaiming her his lawful wife.

  The woman had since been supporting herself and her child by designingand making dainty costumes for children, a vocation to which sheseemed especially adapted, and by which she was making a good living,through the recommendation of both Mrs. Stewart and Edith.

  The day after the accident Roy, on his way home from his office,prompted by a feeling of humanity, went to the Roosevelt Hospital toinquire for the injured man.

  The surgeon looked grave when he made known his errand.

  "There is hardly a ray of hope for him," he remarked; "he is stillunconscious. Do you know anything about him or his family?" he asked,with sudden interest.

  "Yes, I have had some acquaintance with him," Roy returned.

  "Do you know his wife?" the man pursued. "A woman came here lastevening, claiming to be his wife, and insisting upon remaining by hisbedside as long as he should live."

  "Yes, he has a wife," the young man briefly returned, but deeplytouched by this evidence of Giulia's devotion.

  "Is she a dark, foreign-looking lady, of medium height, ratherhandsome, and with a slight accent in her speech?"

  "That answers exactly to her description."

  "I am glad to know it, for we have been in some doubt as to thepropriety of allowing her to remain with our patient. We tried to makeher leave him, last night, even threatening to have her forciblyremoved; but she simply would not go, and is remarkably handy inassisting the nurse, while her self-control is simply wonderful."

  Roy wrote a few lines on one of his cards, saying that if either he orMrs. Bryant could be of any service at this trying time, she might befree to call upon them.

  This he gave to the surgeon to hand to Giulia, and then went away.

  The following evening the woman made her appearance in their home withher child, whom she begged them to care for "as long as Emil shouldlive."

  It could not be very long, she said, with streaming eyes. She lovedhim still, in spite of everything, and she must remain with him whilehe breathed.

  Edith willingly received Ino, saying she would be glad to keep him aslong as was necessary; then Giulia went immediately back to her sadvigils beside the man who had caused her nothing but sorrow and shame.

  But Emil Correlli did not die.

  Very slowly and painfully he came back to life--to an existence,rather, from which he would gladly have escaped when he realized whatit was to be.

  When he first awakened to consciousness it was to find a pale, patientwoman beside him--one who met his sighs and moans with gentlesympathy, and who ministered tirelessly to his every need and comfort.

  No other hand was so cool and soft upon his heated head, or so deft toarrange his covers and pillows; no voice was so gently modulated yetso invariably cheerful--no step so quick and light; and, though thequerulous inva
lid often frowned upon her, and chided her sharply forimaginary remissness, she never wavered in her sweetness andgentleness.

  Thus, little by little, the selfish man grew to appreciate her and toyearn for her presence, if she was forced to be out of his sight foreven a few minutes at a time.

  "She has saved your life--she has almost forced life upon you," thesurgeon remarked to him one day, when, as he came to make hisaccustomed visit, Giulia slipped away for a moment of rest and abreath of fresh air.

  The invalid frowned. It was not exactly pleasant to be told that heowed such a debt of gratitude to the woman he had wronged. He was toocallous to experience very much of gratitude as yet. It was only whenhe was pronounced well enough to be moved, and informed that he mustmake arrangements to be cared for outside, in order to make room formore urgent cases, that he began to wonder how he should get alongwithout his faithful nurse and to realize how dependent he was uponher.

  He knew that he would be a cripple for life; his broken bones hadknitted nicely, and his limbs would be as sound as ever, in time; buthis spine had been injured, and he would never walk uprightagain--henceforth he would only be able to get about upon crutches.

  How, then, could he live without some one to wait upon him and bearwith him in his future state of helplessness?

  "Where shall I go?" he questioned, querulously, when, later, he toldGiulia that his removal had been ordered. "A hotel is the most dismalplace in the world for a sick man."

  "Emil, how would you like a home of your own?" Giulia gravelyinquired.

  The word "home" thrilled him strangely, making him think yearningly ofhis mother and the comforts of his childhood, and an irresistiblelonging took possession of him.

  "A home!" he repeated, bitterly. "How on earth could I make a home formyself?"

  "I will make it for you--I will go to take care of you in it, if youlike," she quietly answered.

  "You!" he exclaimed in surprise, while, with sudden discernment, heremarked a certain refined beauty in her face that he had neverobserved before.

  Then he added, with a sullen glance at his useless limbs, a strangesense of shame creeping over him:

  "Do you still care enough for me to take that trouble?"

  "I am willing to do my duty, Emil," she gravely replied.

  "Ha! you evade me!" he cried, sharply, and piqued by her answer. "Tellme truly, Giulia, do you still love me well enough to be willing todevote your life to such a misshapen wretch as I shall always be?"

  The woman turned her face away from him, to hide the sudden light ofhope that leaped into her eyes at his words, which she fancied had inthem a note of appeal.

  But she had been learning wisdom during her long weeks of service inthe hospital--learning that anything, to be appreciated, must behardly won; and so she answered as before, without betraying a sign ofthe eager desire that had taken root in her heart:

  "I told you, Emil, that I was willing to do my duty. I bear yourname--you are Ino's father--my proper place is in your home; and ifyou see fit to decide that we shall all live together under the sameroof, I will do my utmost to make you comfortable, and your future aspleasant as possible. More than that I cannot promise--now."

  "And you really mean this, Giulia?" he questioned, in a low tone.

  "Yes, if my proposal meets with your approval, we can at least makethe experiment. If it should not prove a success, we can easilyabandon it whenever you choose."

  He knew that he could not do without her--knew that she had become soessential to him that he was appalled at the mere thought of losingher, while the sound of that magic word "home," around which clusteredeverything that was comfortable and attractive, opened before him thepromise of something better than he had ever yet known in life.

  Let us slip over the six months following, to find this little familypleasantly settled in an elegant villa a few miles up the Hudson.

  It is replete with every luxury that money can purchase.

  The choicest in art of every description decorates its walls, andpleasant, sunny rooms, while in a spacious studio, opening out upon awide lawn, may be seen numerous unfinished pieces of statuary, uponwhich the crippled but ambitious master of the house has already begunto work, although his strength will permit him to do but little at atime.

  Giulia, or "Madame Correlli," as she is now known, is the presidinggenius of this ideal spot, and she fills her place with both dignityand grace; while her watchful care and never-failing patience andcheerfulness are beginning to assert their charm upon the man to whomshe is devoting herself, as is noticeable in his many efforts to makelife pleasant to her, in his frequent appeals to her judgment andapproval of his work, and the courtesy which he invariably accordsher.

  Ino has grown, although he is still a beautiful child--very bright andforward for his age, and a source of great enjoyment to his father,who, even now, has begun to direct his tiny hands in the use of themallet and chisel.

  * * * * *

  It was more than a year after her marriage that Edith, accompanied byher mother, visited the annual exhibition of the ---- Academy of Art.

  Among the numerous pictures which were shown there were two whichattracted more attention than all the others. They were evidentlyintended as companion-pieces, and had been painted by the same artist.

  The scene was laid in an avenue of a park. On either side there grewbeautiful, great trees, whose widespread branches made gracefulshadows on the graveled walk beneath. In the center of this avenue--inthe first picture--two figures stood facing each other; one an elderlyman, proud and haughty in his bearing, richly dressed and with acertain air of the world investing him, but with a face--althoughpossessing great natural beauty--so wretched and full of remorse, solined and seamed with soul-anguish, that the heart of every beholderwas instantly moved to deepest sympathy.

  Before him stood a beautiful maiden who was the embodiment of all thatwas pure and happy. Her face was lovely beyond description--its everyfeature perfect, its expression full of sweetness and peace, while adivine pity and yearning shone forth from her heavenly blue eyes,which were upraised to the despairing countenance of her companion.

  Her dress was simple white, belted at the waist with a girdle andflowing ends of gleaming satin ribbon, while a dainty straw hat, fromwhich a single white plume drooped gracefully, crowned her goldenhead.

  The gentleman was standing with outstretched hands, as if in the actof making some appeal to the fair girl, whose grave sweetness, whileit suggested no yielding, yet indicated pity and sorrow for theother's suffering.

  The second picture presented the same figures, but its import wasentirely different.

  Away down the avenue, the young girl, looking even more fair andgraceful, was just passing out of sight, while the gentleman hadturned and was gazing after her, a rapt expression on his face, themisery all obliterated from it, the despair all gone from his eyes,while in their place there had dawned a look of resignation and peace,and a faint smile even seemed to hover about the previously pain-linedmouth, which told that he had just learned some lesson from hisvanishing angel that had changed the whole future for him.

  As Edith looked upon these paintings, which betrayed a master-hand inevery stroke of the brush, a rush of tears blinded her eyes, for sheinstantly recognized the scene, although there had been no attempt atportraiture in the faces, and she read at once the story they wereintended to reveal.

  They were catalogued as "Unrest" and "Peace."

  She knew, even before she discovered the initials--"G. G."--in onecorner, that Gerald Goddard had painted these pictures, and that hehad taken for his subject their meeting in the park the previous year.

  They took the first prize, and the artist immediately receivednumerous and flattering offers for them, but his agent replied to allsuch that the pictures were not for sale.

  A month later a sealed package was delivered at Edith's door, and itwas addressed to her.

  Upon opening it she found a doc
ument bequeathing to her two paintings,lately exhibited at the Academy, which would be delivered to her uponapplication to a certain art dealer in the city, whose address wasinclosed. The communication stated that she was free to make whateverdisposition of them she saw fit.

  Upon a heavy card accompanying them there was written the followingwords:

  "The blessing of Aaron has been fulfilled. May the same peace rest upon thee and thine forever. G. G."

  Upon inquiring about the pictures of the dealer referred to, Edith wasinformed that Gerald Goddard had died only the week previous of quickconsumption, and his body had been quietly interred in Greenwood,according to his own instructions.

  His two paintings, "Unrest" and "Peace," were left in the care of hisfriend, to be delivered to Mrs. Royal Bryant, whenever she should callfor them.

  Edith was deeply touched by this act, and by the fact that the man haddevoted the remnant of his life to picturing that scene which seemedto have made such a deep impression upon his mind, while a feeling ofthankfulness swelled in her heart with the thought that perhaps shehad spoken the "word in season" that had helped to lead into the"paths of peace" the weary worlding, who, even then, was treading soswiftly toward the verge of the "Great Unknown."

  Not many weeks later the New York _Herald_ contained the followingannouncement:

  "MARRIED.--On Wednesday, the 18th, the Honorable Willard Livermore to Mrs. Isabel Stewart, both of New York."

  THE END.

  * * * * *