to sit quietly by and hear mother and daughter discuss the man she loved, was as hard for bernardine to endure as the pangs of death.
"he is sure to be a worshipful husband," said miss margaret. "i always said love would be a grand passion with jay. he will love once, and that will be forever, and to his wife he will be always true."
poor, hapless bernardine could have cried aloud as she listened. what would that proud lady-mother and that haughty sister say if they but knew how he had tricked her into a sham marriage, and abandoned her then and there? oh, would they feel pity for her, or contempt?
the servants, in livery, had taken their posts; everything was in readiness now to welcome the five hundred guests that were to arrive in advance of the bridal pair.
in her boudoir, the grand old lady-mother, resplendent in ivory-satin, rare old point lace and diamonds, was viewing herself critically in the long pier-glass that reached from ceiling to floor. her daughter margaret stood near her, arrayed in satin and tulle, with pearls white as moonbeams lying on her breast, clasping her white throat and arms, and twined among the meshes of her dark hair.
the contrast made poor bernardine look strangely out of place in her plain gray cashmere dress, with its somber dark ribbons.
"you look quite tired, miss moore. i would suggest that you go into the grounds for a breath of fresh air before the guests arrive. then i shall want you here," said miss gardiner, noticing how very white and drawn the girl's face looked.
oh, how thankful she was to get away from them—away from the sight of the pomp and the splendor—to cry her heart out, all alone, for a few moments! with a grateful murmured "thank you," she stepped from the long french window out on to the porch and down the private stair-way into the grounds.
margaret gardiner stepped to the window, drew aside the heavy lace curtains, and watched the dark, slim figure until it was lost to sight among the grand old oak-trees.
it seemed to bernardine that she had escaped just in time, for in another instant she would have cried out with the pain at her heart, with the awful agony that had taken possession of her.
one by one grand coaches began to roll up the long white road, turn in at the great stone gate-way, and rattle smartly up the serpentine drive to the broad porch.
then they commenced to arrive scores at a time, and the air was filled with the ringing hoofs of hundreds of horses, the voices of coachmen and grooms, and the gay sound of laughter.
the din was so great no one heard the solitary little figure among the trees crying out to heaven that she had counted beyond her strength in remaining there to witness the home-coming of the man she loved and his bride.
suddenly she heard the sound of her own name.
"miss moore! miss moore! where are you?" called one of the maids. "my lady is asking for you!"
"tell your mistress i shall be there directly."
"dear me! what an odd creature that miss moore is!" thought the maid, as she flew back to the house. "instead of being in the house, enjoying the music and the grand toilets of the aristocracy that's here to-night, she's out in the loneliest part of the grounds. but, dear me! what an amazing goose i am to be sure. she must have a lover with her, and in that case the grove's a paradise. too bad my lady was so imperative. i would have pretended that i couldn't find her—just yet."
bernardine stooped down, and wetting her handkerchief in the brook, laved her face with it.
she dared not approach the grand old lady with her face swollen with tears, as she was sure it must be.
bernardine found her quite beside herself with excitement.
"i heard the whistle of the incoming train some fifteen minutes ago, miss moore," she said. "my son has reached the station by this time. i have sent our fastest team down to meet him. he will be here at any moment. ah! that is his step i hear now in the corridor! i am trembling so with excitement that i can hardly stand. do not leave, miss moore. i may need you in case this meeting is too much for me and i should faint away in his strong arms."
the footsteps that bernardine remembered so well came nearer.
she pressed her hand tightly over her heart to still its wild beating.
bernardine could have cried aloud in her agony; but her white lips uttered no moan, no sound, even when the door was flung open and a tall, handsome form sprung over the threshold.
"where are you, mother?" cried jay gardiner. "the room is so dark that i can not see where you are!"
the next moment the proud, stately old lady was sobbing on the breast of the son she idolized.
she forgot that in the shadow of the alcove stood her companion; she forgot the existence of every one save her darling boy, whom she clasped so joyfully.
bernardine watched him herself, unseen, her whole heart in her eyes, like one turned into stone.
his handsome face was pale, even haggard; the dark hair, that waved back from the broad brow, was the same; but his eyes—those bonny, sunny, laughing blue eyes—were sadly changed. there was an unhappy look in them, a restless expression, deepening almost into despair. there was a story of some kind in his face, a repressed passion and fire, a something bernardine could not understand.
"i am not alone, you must remember, mother, dear," he said in his deep, musical voice. "i have brought some one else for you to welcome. look up and greet my wife, mother."
slowly the grand old lady unwound her arms from about the neck of her handsome, stalwart son, and turned rather fearfully toward the slender figure by her side.
at that moment young mrs. gardiner took a step forward, which brought her in the full glow of the lamp, and as bernardine gazed, her heart sunk within her.
she saw, as the lovely young stranger threw back her gray silk traveling-cloak, a slim, beautiful creature, with golden hair, round, dimpled face, flushed cheeks and lips, and the brightest of blue, sparkling eyes—a girl who looked like some dazzling picture painted by some old master, and who had just stepped out of a gilded frame. her face was so lovely, that, as bernardine gazed, her heart grew so heavy and strained with pain, that she thought it must surely break. she was the same girl who had visited her at her humble home.
the grand old lady took the haughty young beauty in her arms, calling her "daughter," and bidding her welcome to gardiner castle, her future home.
"ah! no wonder the man i loved deserted me for this beautiful being all life, all sparkle, all fire," was the thought that rushed through bernardine's breaking heart.
then suddenly the old lady remembered her, and turned to her quickly, saying:
"come forward, my dear girl. i wish to present my new companion to my son and his bride."
