Читать книгу A Modern Madonna - Caroline Abbot Stanley - Страница 3

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A hush fell on the waiting throng at old St. John's. The soft babble of modulated voices died suddenly away as from the greenery and the daisies of the chancel a singer's voice rose sweet and clear. The white-ribboned, white-canvased aisles were ready for the coming of a bride's feet, and the wedding guests imprisoned behind the silken bands bent forward expectantly to hear her nuptial song.

That song, as was most meet, breathed love and perfect trust; when it was finished there were tears in many eyes. Women's hearts are very tender at weddings, and the song was in the universal key.

In the vestibule, other ears were bending to catch the strains. With the first note Judge Kirtley raised his hand enjoining silence, and the ushers and the maids fell back, leaving the old man and his companion listening at the door. Upon his arm was Margaret, child of his love, though not of his blood. She was the daughter of his old friend, who, with his dying breath, had left her to his charge. He had been faithful to his trust; he had been to her a father; and she, coming into his childless home, had filled a daughter's place. It would be lonely enough without her.

But it was not this that filled his mind as he listened to the song. He was thinking with the sense of helplessness that comes to every father, to every faithful guardian at a time like this, that he had done all he could; his trust was over; a moment more and he would give her for all time into the keeping of another. Would that other rise to meet the trust? This was the question reiterating itself in his soul. Did Victor De Jarnette know women's hearts—how strong they were to bear, how quick to bleed? Was his a hand that could be both strong and gentle? None other, he knew, could safely guide this girl of his. Margaret was high-strung and impetuous; her capacity for sorrow and for joy had sometimes made him stand aghast. Victor De Jarnette could make a heaven on earth for her, or—

He did not finish, but involuntarily he pressed close to him the white-gloved hand, and Margaret looked up wonderingly, marveling to see his face so stern. There was no shadow on her sky to-day. Her soul was in tune with the singer's rhapsody.

The song ended. There was a soft bustle in the vestibule; the majestic measures of Lohengrin filled her ears; the bridesmaids shook out their plumage and moved on; the flower girls were scattering roses for her path; and with uplifted head and shining eyes Margaret Varnum went forward to meet her lover.

In the chancel, proud, erect, and confident, stood Victor De Jarnette, waiting for her coming. In his black eyes was the triumph of possession. There were others in that church who had sought to win Margaret Varnum, and he did not forget it.

"He's a devilish handsome fellow!" whispered a young officer in the south transept to his companion.

"Yes," was the reply, "with the primary accent on the adverb, eh?"

"Why doesn't his brother take part in it?" asked Mrs. Pennybacker of her niece, "as best man or usher or something?"

Mrs. Van Dorn shrugged her shapely shoulders.

"He is opposed to it, I believe. Not to Margaret especially, but to marriage in general. I don't suppose you could persuade him to take part in a wedding—now."

"What is the matter with the man?" demanded her aunt. "He doesn't look like a crank. What can have given him such a bias as this?"

Her niece smiled enigmatically. "Modesty forbids that I should say much on the subject, my dear aunt. But there are people who are unkind enough to lay to your niece's charge Richard De Jarnette's change of heart. She certainly remembers when he held altogether different views."

"Do you mean to say, Maria—"

"Oh, no, certainly not, so don't look at me like that. I am only telling you what people say. Ah! There come the bridesmaids. Isn't that pink gown a dream?"

Mrs. Pennybacker was looking past the bridal party to the front pew, where sat Victor De Jarnette's elder brother, stern and unbending. By his side was a younger man, who spoke to him from time to time in a light way as if to cheer him, but his pleasantries elicited scant response. It was his friend, Dr. Semple. The two were the sole occupants of the pew reserved for the family of the bridegroom. The De Jarnette brothers were singularly alone.

"I don't believe it," thought Mrs. Pennybacker as she studied the man's face. "He doesn't look to me like a man who would lose his head over Maria, poor thing! as pretty as she is. Some women can make an offer of marriage out of an invitation to a prayer-meeting, and see a love letter in a note beginning, 'My dear madam.' Still, you can't tell. Maria has a pretty face. And men are great fools."

There was not a flaw in the matchless ceremony which has come down to us as a heritage from the ages; not a faltering note in either voice. "To love and to cherish … till death us do part." This was their plighted troth.

The church's challenge rang out boldly.

"If any man can show just cause why these two persons may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace."

A stillness fell upon the place. But no man spoke.

At that most searching admonition, "I require and charge you both, as ye will answer in the dreadful day of judgment … if either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together … ye do now confess it," they searched their souls, but if they found impediment it stood unconfessed.

Once, Margaret felt her lover's hand close suddenly on hers and then relax. She loved him for his vehemence, and gave an answering clasp. At that moment those near the door looked into each other's faces with startled, questioning gaze and bent their heads to listen. No sound was heard above the rector's solemn monotone and the response.

"Victor, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?" The straining ears relaxed and gave heed to the bridegroom's vow. "Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

And Victor De Jarnette answered resonantly,

"I will."

Kneeling, they asked God's benediction on their wedded lives; then down the aisle in radiant happiness they led the train—one flesh, if there be aught in vows—for evermore.

"Did you hear anything during that ceremony?" asked John Jarvis, the lawyer, of his wife as they drove away.

She looked up eagerly. "Yes. Did you?"

"I thought I did. What was it, do you think?"

"It sounded to me like a knock—"

"Yes—"

"—and then a cry, faint, but like a woman's voice."

They spoke in guarded tones, but the old carriage driver, who had been in the family for twenty years and was a privileged character, heard and touched his hat.

"Dat was a crazy woman, miss, de p'liceman say, tryin' to git in widout no ticket. Dey run 'er in. Yaas, miss."

A knot of men who had likewise heard the knock discussed it as they walked toward Pennsylvania Avenue.

"He's been wild," said one, raising his brow, and his companion answered with easy tolerance,

"Oh, yes, of course. But he has sowed his wild oats, and now he is ready to settle down."

A lady, passing, caught the words and their drift.

"Did you ever notice," she said thoughtfully to her husband, who walked beside her, "that people always say, 'Oh well, he has sowed his wild oats,' as if that finished it? But in the country, where I was born, we sow our oats and know that we will reap. I imagine 'wild oats' are not very different from other kinds."