The Baronet's Bride Part 27

So this young tyrant had everything his own way. The preparations were hurried on with amazing haste; the day was named, the bride-maids and guests bidden.

Miss Hunsden's young lady friends were few and far between, and Mildred Kingsland and the rector's sister and twelve-year-old daughter were to comprise the whole list.

The wedding-day dawned--a sullen, overcast, threatening December day.

A watery sun looked out of a lowering sky, and then retreated altogether, and a leaden dullness overspread the whole firmament. An icy wind curdled your blood and tweaked your nose, and feathery snowflakes whirled drearily through the opaque gloom.

The church was full, and silks rustled and bright eyes flashed inquisitively, and people wondered who that tall, foreign-looking person beside my lady might be.

It was Sybilla Silver, gorgeous in golden silk, with her black eyes lighted with cruel, inward exultation, and who glared almost fiercely upon the beautiful bride.

My lady, magnificent in her superb disdain of all these childish proceedings, stood by and acknowledged in her heart of hearts that if beauty and grace be any excuse for folly, her son had those excuses.

Lovely as a vision, with her pure, pale, pa.s.sionless face, her clear, sweet eyes, Harriet Hunsden swept up the aisle in her rich bridal robes, her floating lace, and virginal orange-blossoms.

The bridegroom's eyes kindled with admiration and pride as he took his place by her side, he looking as n.o.ble and gallant a gentleman as England could boast.

It was over--she was his wife! They had registered their names, they drove back to the rectory, the congratulations offered, the breakfast eaten, the toast drunk. She was upstairs dressing for her journey; the carriage and the bridegroom were waiting impatiently below.

Mrs. Green hovered about her with matronly solicitude, and at the last moment Harriet flung herself impetuously upon her neck and broke out into hysterical crying.

"Forgive me!" she sobbed. "Oh, Mrs. Green, I never had a mother!"

Then she drew down her veil and ran out of the room before the good woman could speak. Sir Everard was waiting in the hall. He drew her hand under his arm and hurried her away. Mrs. Green got down-stairs only in time to see her in the carriage.

Then the bridegroom sprung lightly in beside her, the carriage door closed, the horses started, and the happy pair were off.

Sybilla Silver went back to the Court alone. My lady, in sullen dignity, took her daughter and went straight to her jointure house at the other extremity of the village.

She stood in the confer of a lengthy suite of apartments--the new Lady Kingsland's--opening one into the other in a long vista of splendor.

She took a portrait out of her breast and gazed at it with brightly glittering eyes.

"A whole year has pa.s.sed, my mother," she said, slowly, "and nothing has been done. But Sybilla will keep her oath. Sir Jasper Kingsland's only son shall meet his doom. It is through her I will strike; that blow will be doubly bitter. Before this day twelvemonth these two shall part more horribly than man and wife ever parted before!"

CHAPTER XVII.

MR. PARMALEE'S LITTLE MYSTERY.

Kingsland Court had from time immemorial been one of the show-places of the county, Thursday being always set apart as the visitors' day.

The portly old housekeeper used to play cicerone, but the portly old housekeeper, growing portlier and older every day, got in time quite unable to waddle up and down and pant out gasping explanations to the strangers.

So Miss Sybilla Silver, with her usual good nature, came to the rescue, got the history of the old house, and the old pictures, and cabinets, and curiosities, and suits of armor and things by heart, and took Mrs.

Comfit's place.

The first Thursday after the marriage of Sir Everard there came sauntering up to the Court, in the course of the afternoon, a tall young gentleman, smoking a cigar, and with his hands thrust deep in his trousers pockets.

He was not only tall, but uncommonly tall, uncommonly lanky and loose-boned, and his clothes had the general air of being thrown on with a pitchfork.

He wore a redundance of jewelry, in the shape of a couple of yards of watch-chain, a huge seal ring on each little finger, and a flaring diamond breastpin of doubtful quality.

His clothes were light, his hair was light, his eyes were light. He was utterly devoid of hirsute appendages, and withal he was tolerably good-looking and unmistakably wide awake.

He threw away his cigar as he reached the house, and astonished the understrapper who admitted him by presenting his card with a flouris.h.i.+ng bow.

"Jest give that to the boss, my man," said this personage, coolly. "I understand you allow strangers to explore this old castle of your'n, and I've come quite a piece for that express purpose."

The footman gazed at him, then at the card, and then sought out Miss Silver.

"Blessed if it isn't that 'Merican that's stopping at the Vine, and that asked so many questions about Sir Everard and my lady, of Dawson, last night," he said.

Sybilla took the card curiously. It was a _bona-fide_ piece of pasteboard, printed all over in little, stumpy capitals:

GEORGE WAs.h.i.+NGTON PARMALEE, PHOTOGRAPHIC ARTIST, No. 1060 BROADWAY, UPSTAIRS.

Miss Silver laughed.

"The gentleman wants to see the house, does he? Of course he must see it, then, Higgins. And he was asking questions of Dawson last night at the inn?"

"'Eaps of questions, Miss Silver, as bold as bra.s.s, all about Sir Everard and my lady--our young lady, you know. Shall I fetch him up?"

"Certainly."

There chanced to be no other visitor at the Court, and Sybilla received Mr. Parmalee with infinite smiles and condescension.

"Beg your pardon, miss," he said, politely; "sorry to put you to so much trouble, but I calculated on seeing this old pile before I left these parts, and as they told me down at the tavern this was the day--"

"It is not the slightest trouble, I a.s.sure you," Miss Silver interposed. "I am only too happy to have a stranger come and break the quiet monotony of our life here. And, besides, it affords me double pleasure to make the acquaintance of an American--a people I intensely admire. You are the first I ever had the happiness of meeting."

"Want to know!" said Mr. Parmalee, in a tone betokening no earthly emotion whatever. "It's odd, too. Plenty folks round our section come across; but I suppose they didn't happen along down here. Splendid place this; fine growing land all round; but I see most of it is let run wild. If all that there timber was cut down and the stumps burned out and the ground turned into pasture, you hain't no idea what an improvement it would be. But you Britishers don't go in for progress and that sort of thing. This old castle, now--it's two hundred years old, I'll be bound!"

"More than that--twice as old. Will you come and look at the pictures now? Being an artist, of course you will like to see the pictures first."

Mr. Parmalee followed the young lady to the long picture-gallery, his hands still in his pockets, whistling softly to himself, and eying everything.

"Must have cost a sight of money, all these fixings," he remarked. "I know how them statues and busts reckons up. This here baronet must be a powerful rich man?"

"He is," said Miss Silver, quietly.

"Beg your pardon, miss, but air you one of the family?"

"No, sir. I am lady Kingsland's companion."