CHAPTER XIII.
OH, WHAT A NIGHT!
All unconscious of the deception that had been practiced on him, Everard Dawn drove briskly back to his home, making no effort to restore Cinthia, and, in fact, rather hoping that her unconsciousness would last until he could place her in Mrs. Flint’s care. In common with most men, he had a holy horror of sensational scenes, and shrunk from hearing his daughter’s reproaches when she should revive and find herself so cruelly sundered from her lover.
So he made haste to reach home, and his thoughts on the way were most sad and bitter, for in this man’s past was a tragedy of sorrow that might have driven a weaker man to cut loose the bonds of unbearable life with his own hands and hurl himself recklessly into the great unknown future beyond.
With his return to his sister’s house, everything had rushed back upon him like the swell of some great river, and seared wounds had been opened afresh, bleeding in secret beneath his outward calmness. However handsome and prosperous he appeared to the outward eye, no man could have envied Everard Dawn, having looked once into his tortured heart and seen its secrets laid bare.
Mrs. Flint was watching and listening for him, and as soon as the sleigh stopped, she seized a lantern, and bundling herself in a shawl, rushed out to the gate.
Springing out and fastening the lines to a post, he said, triumphantly:
“I overtook them, Rebecca, and Cinthia fainted with fear. I brought her back in that condition, thus escaping a scene in the sleigh. I will carry her in, and you can revive her at your leisure, while I return the sleigh to the stable.”
He lifted out the form, carefully shrouded in a large, warm robe, and, almost staggering under the burden, followed the lead of his sister into the sitting-room, depositing it on the long sofa, panting:
“Cinthia looked so slender, I did not suppose she was so heavy. My arms fairly ache. Now do you revive her, Rebecca, and soothe the poor girl as tenderly as you can until I return presently.”
“Well, I declare, I never saw such an unfeeling father in my life! There he rushes off again, without so much as glancing at her face to see if she is dead or alive. He doesn’t seem to bear one bit of love for the poor, neglected girl, and I wish in my heart she had got away with Arthur Varian and married him, that I do!” ejaculated the old lady, as she heard her brother drive away, her usually cold heart melting with sympathy for the hapless girl over whom she bent, drawing aside the folds of the heavy robe from her face, adding, sharply: “And a pretty how-d’ye-do there’ll be when she revives and finds herself parted from her lover. Not that I believe he can keep them apart, for there’s an old saying that true love always finds a way, and——Oh, my goodness gracious, what in the world——!”
With that dismayed exclamation, the Widow Flint dropped the corner of the robe, and recoiled as if she had encountered a nest of serpents.
It was not quite so bad as that, but she certainly had good reason for her surprise and dismay.
For instead of her beautiful niece, slender, golden-haired Cinthia, there lay a large woman of middle age, shabbily attired, with a pinched face, whose cadaverous hue was outlined by long, straggling locks of jet-black hair.
“Dead!” cried Mrs. Flint, in horror; and the shock to her nerves was so great that she rushed from the room and banged open the front door, calling wildly down the road: “Everard! Everard! Come back!”
But the homeless wind and vagrant snow blew mockingly in her face, and no other sound came back, so she knew it was all in vain to stand there shouting for one who could not hear.
She went in and shut the door, groaning loudly:
“What a night—what a night—and what a mistake Everard has made, or is he only playing a foolish joke on me? Who is the woman, anyway? I never saw her face in these parts before.”
And presently conquering her terror, she stole back into the room for a second look.
The strange intruder lay there speechless, motionless, as if life had indeed fled from her body. Mrs. Flint ventured to touch her hand, and it felt like ice.
“She is frozen to death!” she muttered, pityingly. “Oh, how I wish Everard would return and explain this mysterious thing. I had better feel her heart. Why, it seems to beat faintly, poor creature! I wish I knew just what to do to bring her to life, for this is just awful! Oh, what a night!”
But, leaving poor Mrs. Flint to her dazed condition and perplexity, we must follow the eloping couple as their train rushed on through the night and darkness to Washington.
They had spent several happy hours together on the train, heedless of the other passengers, who mostly slept or talked together, apparently taking slight notice of the young pair who sat apart conversing with shy dignity and permitting themselves no slightest caresses, such as might have drawn ready ridicule upon their love.
Almost before they realized it, the day dawned, and the train rushed into the city on time at eight o’clock.
Arthur took a carriage, and he and his bride to be were driven to a hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue, where he always stopped when visiting the city.
Calling the proprietor aside, he said, in his most genial fashion:
“As I have known you a long time, sir, I wish to say that I desire to be married to the young lady who accompanies me before I register our names. Can you send out for the nearest minister?”
The host congratulated him, and answered laughingly:
“Cupid never was in such luck before, for the Reverend Doctor Sprague is in the office at this moment, having called in to inquire about a subscription for his new church. You will both please step into the parlor, and I will bring him there in a jiffy!”
Cinthia was all in a tremor now.
“Must I not even bathe my face and brush my hair first?” she queried, clinging to him.
“No, love, not till the little ceremony is over. I can not rest till I know you are mine and out of your father’s power,” Arthur cried, ardently. “And, see, there is the minister! Be brave, love; it will all be over in a moment.”
“Doctor Sprague—Mr. Varian and his intended bride. I am to be the best man, and give the bride away,” said the host, genially; and the minister bowed, and opened his book, saying:
“I should like two witnesses, please. Perhaps that lady looking out of the window will oblige us.”