over the new england hills the hazy light of a most glorious indian summer was shining, while the forest trees, in their gorgeous array of crimson and gold, lifted their tall heads as proudly as if they heard not in the distance the voice of coming sorrows, and the sighing of winter winds. the birds had flown to their southern home where i fondly hoped to meet them, for i was to be a bride—richard’s bride—and the day for my bridal had come. we had been everywhere—richard and i—all over the old meadow brook farm, sacred to me for the many hallowed associations which clustered around it, and very, very dear to him because it was my childhood’s home. so he told me when we stood for the last time beneath the spreading grape-vine, and i pointed out to him the place where years before i had lain in the long green grass and wept over the fickleness of one who was naught to me now, save a near friend.
together we had sat in the old brown schoolhouse,—he in the big arm chair, and i—but no matter where i sat when i told him of the little romping girl with yellow hair, who had there first learned to con the alphabet and to trace on the gaily colored maps the boundary lines of georgia, little dreaming that her home would one day be there. then 355when i showed him the bench where i had lain when the faintness came over me, he wound his arm closer around me,—though wherefore i do not know. together too, we had gone over the old farmhouse, he lingering longest in the room where i was born, and when he thought i didn’t see him, gathering a withered leaf from the rose bush which grew beneath the window, and which i told him i had planted when a little girl.
every woman, young and old, in the neighborhood and in the village had seen him, either face to face or from behind the folds of a muslin curtain, some calling him “black and ugly,” while others pronounced him “splendid,” and all i believe united in saying that, “rosa lee had done wonders, considering she had no great amount of beauty to do it with!”
once, when a remark like this came to richard’s ear he smiled quietly and said, “rosa lee is beautiful to me, for though her face may lack perfect regularity of features and brilliancy of complexion, she has beauty of a higher order, a beauty of the mind, which is seen in her laughing blue eyes and sunny smile.”
thus you see, my reader, that richard thought i was handsome, while strange as it may seem there were others who said so too, and even i was sensible of a thrill of pride, such as i suppose conscious beauties feel, when i stood up before the mirror and saw how well i looked in my bridal dress of satin and lace—his gift, but not the same which he had purchased for me some months before. at first i had proposed wearing the one intended for dr. clayton’s bride, but richard would not suffer it, so i gave it to lizzy, who, as soon as john thompson was of age, which would be in january, would probably have need of it! this same john was to be our groomsman and much he amused richard by 356telling him of the tall, hateful boy who had once been a terror to a little schoolma’am thirteen years of age, who now, with a heightened bloom upon her cheek and a strange light in her eye, stood waiting the summons to the parlor below. it came at last and as i laid my hand on richard’s arm he imprinted a kiss upon my lips, “the last,” he said, “he should ever give to rosa lee.”
of what came next i have only a faint remembrance. there was a rustling of satin upon the narrow stair-case, down which lizzie and i went a little in advance of richard and john thompson, the latter of whom said something in a low tone about hoops and the space they occupied! this remark shocked me inexpressibly, but richard didn’t seem to mind it at all. as we passed the front door, the cool night wind (for it was evening) blew over my face, reminding me of the south, it was so soft and balmy. when we entered the parlor, i was conscious of a goodly number of eyes fixed upon me, and as i crossed over to a vacant spot under the looking glass i heard more than one say in a whisper, “isn’t she pretty?” meaning lizzie, i suppose! then a man, whom i recognized as the new episcopal clergyman (i believe i’ve never said that richard was an episcopalian) stood up before us and said something about “you richard—and you rose,” after which richard placed a ring upon my finger squeezing my hand a very little as he did so. then followed a short prayer, in which i fancied the minister made a mistake in our names, inasmuch as he spoke of isaac and rebecca instead of richard and rose! this being done i glanced at the bridegroom. there was no scowl upon his forehead now, and i could see the light shining out all over his face as he bent down and gently whispered “my wife!”
this dispelled the clouds at once, and as guest after guest 357crowded around, offering their congratulations, while charlie and john thompson vied with each other in repeating my new name, i began to realize that i was no longer rosa lee, but mrs. richard delafield.
