Democratic Sentinel, Volume 22, Number 3, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 January 1898 — WOOED AND MARRIED [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WOOED AND MARRIED

BY CHARLOTTEM BRAEME.

CHAPTER lIL Hildred had gone through the grounds down to the banks of the river; she sat there watching the color of the water change as the twilight deepened. A tall beedi tree with superb spreading branches grew near; the grass was studded with white and golden flowers. There Arley Ransome found her, the daughter on whom he had built all his hopes of fame aqd fortune, her dark eyes fixed on the tranquil stream, her white hands lying listlessly on her knees. "Hildred!” said Arley Ransome, “I have something very particular to say to you. I will sit down by your side. How gloriously beautiful the river looks tonight!” “Something to say to me?” she repeated, dreamily. “You could not have chosen a better time for saying it, papa. I never care to talk on nights like these; I can only listen.” “The brightest hope of my life has been accomplished to-day, Hildred,” he began; “that which I have longed for has been given to me. I have been pleased, projid and happy.” He saw that her interest was awakened., and that her eyes brightened. She looked earnestly at him. _ “Pleased, proud and happy? That seems a great deal, papa.” “It means a great deal, Hildred. Today the Earl of Caraven has asked permission to make you his wife.” If he had expected any demonstration of delight he was disappointed. She made none. She did not blifsh, or look pleased or displeased. The calmness of her face was unbroken. “The Earl of Cnraven. That is the gentleman I saw to-day, papa?” “Yes, that was Lord Caraven, and he wishes to make you his wife.” “But how can he, papa? He ha® seen me only once. Why should he wish to marry me?” “That I cannot say, Hildred,” he answered; “I am better versed in law than in love; I can only repeat what I have told you. The earl wishes you to be his wife.”

The dark, eloquent eyes traveled slowly from his face to the river, and then back to the shrewd, eager countenance. “And this is the dream of your life, papa—that I marry him? I should be a countess, I suppose, papa. One of the girls from St. Roche, our school, became a countess—everyone envied her; but her marriage was not a very happy one.” “All marriages would be happy if women expected only a little less than they do, and were rational,” he said, hastily. She knitted her fair white brow, while she thought deeply, silently. “The Earl of Caraven wants to marry me, papa—did he say that he loved me?” “Gentlemen seldom speak to lawyers about love,” he replied, impatiently. “This is not a mere sentimental, nonsensical love affair; it is of far greater importance. Give it your serious attention, Hildred; put aside all the nonsense.” Again the dark eyes wandered from the rippling river to the blue sky, to the green trees, the soft, dewy grass, the sleeping uneasily, as though reading something there that did not harmonize with her father’s words; then she spoke to him —years afterward she remembered her words. “That is your dream, papa—to see me Countess of Caraven. Tell me —I have been at school all my life, and I know so little of real life—it seems to me that I have done nothing but study—l have read few novels, I know nothing of what people call love, but you, my father, would not deceive me —tell me, is love a needful part of marriage? Is it right to marry without it? Are people happy without it?”

“Most decidedly,” he replied. “Hildred,” he said, after a pause, “I hope you are not going to turn out romantic.” “I hope not,” she replied, quietly. “You have told me the truth, papa, and, though it has astonished'me, I thank you for it —one should not have false notions. I have asked because it strikes me that it would be a terrible thing to marry without love, and then for love not to come afterward.” “Such a thing could not be. Every woman with a well-regulated mind loves her husband; every husband in the same way loves his wife.” “Then, if I marry the Earl of Caraven now,” she said quietly, “I shall learn to love him afterward?”

“Certainty,” he replied, with a wish that she were not so earnestly sincere. “I have not thought of marrying,” she continued, in the same earnest, simple tone. “You see, papa, there was nothing to make me think of it. There were no gentlemen at St. Roche, and I have been po busy with my books. I liked study. I like it now. I like the idea, too, of being a countess —it has a pleasant sound—‘Lady Caraven.’ And you are sure, papa, that I shall love my—love Lord Caraven after marriage, if not before?” “I am quite sure,” he replied, with unnecessary fervor. She turned slowly to him. “I will marry the earl,” she said, simply. He looked delighted. “I shall see him and tell him to-mor-row,” he said. “Now, remember, Hildred, this is a very solemn matter. You cannot go back after you have once pledged your word.” “I shall not want to go back,” she said. “It is a fair destiny—why should I wish to change it? Countess of Caraven! When shall I see him—the earl—again, papa ?” Arley Ransome could not suppress a slight pang of reproach. If she expected to find a gallant wooer in the spendthrift earl, she would be wofully disappointed. It would be best perhaps to prepare her. “Very soon; and I am quite sure he will be pleased. But, Hildred, I want to sqy something else to you. Common people have common customs. When Darby goes to woo Joan, he sits with his arm round her waist. Men like” —then he grew confused, remembering that men were alike all the world over—“men like the curl woo in a different fashion.” “What is their fashion?” she asked, quietly. “They say little of love —they talk no nonsense—they send princely presents of diamonds and jewels—they prove their love by actions more than by words.” “I see.” Then she added, naively, “Do you know, papa, I think I should like what you call the Darby and Joan fashion best.”

CHAPTER IV. Hildred Ransome was engaged to be married; she was to be Lady Caraven, and on this day her lover was to visit her. Mr. Ransome, hoping to make matters smooth and pleasant, hnd invited his future son-in-law to dine with him, and that he might not feel dull had asked the humorous' and brilliant talker, Mr. Carwey, to join them. It was well that he had done so, for the actual presence of her lover seemed to strike Hildred dumb. She looked at him whenever she found that he was looking elsewhere. She thought him very handsome. His indolent, careless grace contrasted so favorably with her father’s sharp, brisk manner. She wondered why the earl looked worn and haggard. When dinner was over, the earl evidently preferred the society of Mr. Carwey to hers. “Why had he asked to marry her if he did not care to talk to her?” she said to herself. “How strange it was!” Then her father invited Mr. Carwey to have a game of chess, and the earl walked slowly across the room to where she was sitting. He stood by her side, tall, stately, despite his indolent grace of manner. Her heart beat. What was he going to say? He bent hi® head somewhat stiffly. “I have to thank you, Miss Ransome,.” he said, “for honoring me by wearing my ring.” She looked up at him, and there was something in the calm gaze of the pure eyes before which he shrank. “You wished me to wear it, did you mot?” she asked. “My father thought so.” t “Certainly. lam delighted.” Try as be would, he could not conceal a tone of irony. She detected it and looked at him again. He bowed aud continued: “I am fortunate indeed. I have to ask you, Miss Ransome, now that you have consented to—to become Lady drawn, to tell me—that is to say—what day will suit you?” “Day for what?” she asked, innocently. “A day to be married on,” he replied. A look of rebuke stole over the girlish face. “You spoke of it so lightly,” she said, “that I fancied you meant a day for going out somewhere. You spoke .as if you were asking me to arrange a day for boating on the river.”

“What shall I say, then?” he asked, smiling despite his annoyance. “It is not for me to tell you,” she replied, in all simplicity. He laughed aloud. “Shall I say ‘loveliest, fairest’?” With an air of grave displeasure she rose from her seat. “Lord Oeraven, I will hear no more,” she said; "your manner does not please me.” He longed to retort, “Nor do you please me;” but he was merely a fly in the spider’s web—he could not escape. He followed her. After all, he was a gentleman, and she was to bear his name. “I am unfortunate, Miss Ransome,” he said, “in having displeased you—pardon me. I had every intention of asking you the question with all decorum—pray permit me to repeat it.” “Do I understand you rightly?” said the grave, sweet, girlish voice. “Are you asking me to decide as to my wedding day?” “I am indeed so brave,” he replied. “Then I must decline to do so—my father will know best what time will suit him.” “I understood from Mr. Ransome that six weeks from now would be convenient,” said the earl. Her face did not change—no flush or pallor told that the words had affected her. “Six weeks,” she said, mqsingly; “I shall be eighteen in four weeks from today!” ’ “I wish,” he said, “that I could be eighteen over again.” "Would you be the better for it?” she asked, curiously. “I should at least be wiser,” he answered, and she made no comment. "She has a little more spirit than I thought she had,” he safd to himself. Then, when he had the opportunity, he told Arley Ransome that he had been unfortunate in his interview with his daughter. Mr. Ransome quickly made everything smooth—the wedding day was .to he on thp third of August. “Something may happen before then,” thought the earl; “if not, I have always one resource, always one haven. Much may happen before the third of August.” While Hildred Ransome said to herself that, if she liked hei; future husband no better in six weeks’ time than she did mw, it would be but a sorry wedding day.

CHAPTER V.

Hildred Ransome did not seem to understand either the day or the event until she stood before the altar in St. George’s Church. Then, with a cold shock and a cold dull pain, the full realisation of it all came to her. It was her wedding day, and she was about to marry the handsome, indifferent earl, who stood by her side. All that had passed before seemed like a dream. The sunshine had awakened her. There came a confused vision of maids in waiting, of silk and lace, jewels nnd flowers. She had heard her own maid Amice say: “Poor young lady, it is hard to have neither mother nor sister!” Lady Riche had swept into the room, and had admired the beautiful wedding dress. The only sensation that Hildred had had was one of cold, sick faintness. When she was dressed her father had kissed her and said: “You will make a beautiful countess. Hildred. She had thought the morning might bring her some token from her lover—a note or present—something to remind her of him; but it did not, and her heart misgave her sorely. Then, after a long drive, she found herself in the fashionable church of St. George’s, Hanover Square. There was a string of carriages outside; the church was crowded with spectators. Amidst the throng, the odor of flowers, the rustle of silk, the gleaming of satins, the shining of rare gems, with the whiterobed minister before her and the handsome earl by her side, she realized the fact that it was her wedding day; hitherto everything had seemed as in a dream. It seemed to her that she passed through a sea of faces, that people crowded round her as she went down the church. She saw the long line of carriages, the profusion of wedding favors. She made no attempt to speak; if she had done so she would have lost herself in a passion of tears. At home again, her father took her in his arms, and kissed her face, whispering: “My daughter, Countess of Caraven.”

Lady Riche bad attempted a very aiM cares®. “It went off very well,” she said. “Lord Caraven looked tired. I had no ide* that we should have so many people there. I hope my fichu was al! right. There were very handsome dresses.” “A very pretty wedding,” put in Lord St. Maure. “I feel that I have been busy to-day in a good cause.” But the man who had married Hildred Ransome spoke never a word. Then the carriage drove up to the door, and the bride went to chauge her dress. Lady Riche went with her; the girl's forlorn manner and wistful face had touched even that worldly heart. “I hope you will be happy, Lady Caraven,” she said. “When they read the account of your wedding every woman in London will envy you.” "Envy me!” she re-echoed—“l, who have neither mother nor sisters?” “My dear Lady Caraven, you have a husband and a father, which I think better. Let me give you one little bit of advice. You are going to face the great, cold world; have nothing to do with sentiment, and as far as possible eare more for yourself than any one else.” Lord Oaraven bade his adieus; he shook hands with Arley Ransome, cutting short a gushing speech that the lawyer had carefully prepared. Then Arley Ransome was touched again. Some one said that Lady Caraven was in the morning room, waiting to say good-by to him there alone. The tender arms were clinging round him, the dark eyes looking into his—* sad, wistful face, full of pathetic inquiry, was near his own. “Papn,” she whispered, and there was an agony of entreaty in her voice, “you are quite sure that you have not deceived me—you are quite sure that I can be happy without love?” He laughed. “You will find that the Countess of Caraveu has more .to think about than a trifle like love, Hildred.” Her arms fell from him; he raised her sad. sweet, girlish face from his breast. “I will believe you, papn,” she said; "I will trust you to the very end.” Then she went nway, nud Arley Ransome would have spent a far happier day if those words had not lingered with him. Hildred was alone with her husband at last. Now surely he would say something to her—speak to her of that love that he must feel for her; he would not keep up the same indifference now she was his wife. The words that she thirsted for, that she longed to hear, he would surely utter; surely he would bend over her nnd 1 •ay something, were it only the two words I —“My wife.” What were his first words? 9tie had thought of many things that he might say I to her—sweet, tender words; the reality was far different. He leaned back with an nir of utter weariness.

“I never remember to have found time pass so slowly in my life,” he said. “The, sun is very warm—would yon like the’ carriage-hood raised?” She made no answer. He did not even seem to notice it “I wish,” he said, "some one would bring in a bill for the abolition of wed-' ding breakfasts.” Her face flushed with anger. He wns «o far from understanding her that he laughed. The paiu in her voice did not reach him. “Do you like being on the sea nt night?” he inquired, after a long pause. “I hardly know my own likes and dielikes yet,” she replied. "Why do you ask?” “Because the boat leaves Dover for Calais about eleven, and I thought we would take it.” “As you please,” she replied. Her face was quite pale, her lips were white and pressed firmly together. In her heart was a sense of desolation that words could not describe. He wondered at her silence, her gravity. It was the height of the season at Dover, nnd the band was playing on the pier. He sat. with his wife in the dining room of the Lord Warden, when he saw her suddenly start ns though, she were frightened. She covered her face with her hands, nnd when she looked up again her eyes were dim with tears. It was all because the bond was playing “Love's Young Dream.” (To be continued.