CHAPTER XXIII.
A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.
Two weeks rolled around very quickly and brought Cora’s wedding day again.
It would be somewhat different from the one that had been so tragically interrupted the month before.
This would be a home wedding at Mrs. van Dorn’s, where Cora was still staying.
And she had chosen another maid of honor, because the first one was still absent in the South.
Laurier also would have to select another friend for his best man, as Ernest Noel had mysteriously disappeared.
No one had seen him since the afternoon when he had taken Miss Ellyson sleigh riding, and it was currently believed that the young man had committed suicide.
Cora had lent color to this report by frankly owning that Noel had perfidiously sought to win her from Laurier, and in the madness of disappointment threatened to take his own life.
She told glibly of their long sleigh ride, in which they had been caught in the snowstorm and lost their way, not returning until after nightfall.
She grew pale and grave when she told how Noel had pleaded for her love in passionate phrases, and how angry he had grown when she had upbraided him for his treachery to his friend.
“All is fair in love or war,” he had replied doggedly, and turned a deaf ear to her pleadings that he would turn back from the storm that was gathering.
“I shall drive on and on if it be to perdition until you take pity on me!” he had vowed grimly, but her fright and tears had moved him at last to bring her back home.
With her hand close clasped in Laurier’s, Cora had repeated her story, ending sadly:
“I was very angry with the poor fellow, yet I pitied him, too; he was so tragically in earnest, and I shall never forget him as I saw him last when he left me at the door. His face was pale as death, and his eyes glared wildly under the electric lights as he took my hand in his and kissed it, murmuring tragically:
“You will never see me again, for I cannot bear my life without your love! I shall end it to-night, and when you hear of my death you will know I did it for your sake, and may the thought of it prove a thorn in the roses of your happiness!”
Cora’s voice sank to a low, sobbing cadence as she added:
“He looked wild enough to do any rash deed, but I did not believe him, I thought he was only trying to frighten me. I said good night quickly, and ran into the house, for I was almost frozen, and scared half to death from our interview.”
“Poor Cora—poor Noel! It was very distressing to you both, I know, and I fear he really carried out his threat, for nothing has been heard of him yet, and his relatives are getting very anxious,” said Laurier gravely, almost wishing in his heart that Cora had taken pity on Noel’s love and accepted him.
He knew well that she had coquetted with the young man and led him on to his madness—he had seen it all along while he lay ill—but it was useless to tax her with the wrong, he could only think bitterly:
“Why will women break hearts for pastime?”
But following the thought, a pale, reproachful face seemed to rise before him, and lips that he had kissed for the whim of a moment—red, rosy lips—seemed to murmur:
“What of men?”
So he could not reproach Cora; he was not without fault himself.
The days passed quickly with no tidings of Noel, and the twenty-second of December came—his wedding day!
Oh, with what joy he had looked forward to it once! The day that should give him proud, beautiful Cora for his own!
He had loved her madly for a little while, but all his efforts could not bring back the passion now. It was cold and dead, and his heart lay like a stone in his breast.
They had decided to go South on a bridal tour, both having crossed the ocean several times, so that there would have been no novelty in the trip. Everything was in readiness for the journey as soon as the wedding reception was over.
Why was it that he could look forward so indifferently to the tête-à-tête journey with the stately bride for whose sake he was bitterly envied by other men? Did a dead hand, small and white and warning—rise between him and his bride, barring out happiness?
It almost seemed so.
He would not listen to the haunting voices throbbing at his heart, but, putting them aside, prepared to keep his troth plight, praying yet for love to come back to its forsaken nest in his heart.
Not so with beautiful Cora, who, beaming with joyous anticipations, was making ready for her bridal, smiling as the maid pinned on the bridal veil, thinking there could be no bar to her happiness now, for was not Frank waiting for her downstairs, and everything in readiness!
“Oh, Miss Cora, how magnificent you look! May I let them all see you now?” cried the exultant maid.
“Yes, I am ready to go downstairs now, and it is time, is it not?” tilting back the long pier glass for another admiring view at herself in the glory of her white brocade train and point-lace veil.
Fifine stepped to the door and called Mrs. van Dorn and the others who were waiting, but as they crossed the threshold, loud, piercing shrieks rang through the room, and a horrible sight met their eyes.
In stepping back for a better view of herself, Cora had thoughtlessly brushed against a cluster of wax lights burning in a silver candelabra on her dressing table. In an instant the flames caught the filmy folds of her veil and ignited it, wrapping her quickly in leaping flames like so many writhing serpents.
Never had there been a more tragic interruption to a wedding.
The splendid mansion so gayly decorated for the occasion, instantly became a scene of dismay and confusion.
The shrieks of the frightened women upstairs brought the bridegroom and guests rushing to their aid, and it was Frank Laurier himself who first had the presence of mind to tear the burning garments from Cora, though at the cost of painful injuries to himself.
But he scarcely gave a thought to that, so keen was his pity for the poor wreck of what had been but five minutes ago a beautiful, radiant young girl, with her heart full of love and pride going to the altar with her handsome lover.
Cora’s injuries were so severe that her blackened, swollen features were quite unrecognizable. The bridal gown was reduced to a charred, black mass, and there was not a vestige left of the costly point-lace veil.
For long weeks she hovered between life and death, and no one supposed she could ever recover. Indeed, her best friends thought it might be better to die than to live with all her radiant beauty gone. All her beautiful hair, her eyebrows and lashes were burned away, and her once lovely skin was scarred and red. The great, flashing, dark eyes were dim and sunken.
When after long weeks she began to convalesce to the surprise of all her doctors, people said that she ought to release Frank Laurier from his engagement. No man would be willing to marry such a fright.
But Cora was not so magnanimous. She sent word to her lover to be true to her, and she would marry him as soon as she was quite well again.
Then she consulted the most eminent physicians and dermatologists in the city about the restoration of her beauty.
She was wild with anguish over her disfigurements, and declared that she would sacrifice her whole fortune to regain what she had lost by the terrible accident.
She put herself in their hands and they promised to do their best, but the process would be slow—she must give up the world for a year, perhaps, ere success could crown their efforts. She agreed to this and refused to see her lover until her lost beauty should be restored.