CHAPTER XXVIII.
“TOO LATE.”
Seven o’clock came, and Dora sat, pale as the robes in which she was arrayed, awaiting the appearance of her persecutor, who was to lead her forth to such a heartless sacrifice.
Very, very lovely she looked in her misty dress of costly lace over glimmering satin.
Nina, ever ready to entertain, had related the history of those fatal robes while decking our wretched heroine.
She shuddered as she heard the story, and felt as if she were being arrayed in a shroud instead of bridal attire.
The dress had been provided for a beautiful lady, brought there like Dora against her will, and whom on seeing, one of the smugglers had become very much enamored with, and desired to marry her. She indignantly refused his suit, but preparations were made for the bridal, the dress and its paraphernalia were all in readiness, but when the time came the bride was missing.
Every vault and passage was explored, but without success, until at last her body was found floating in the sea.
She had found a passage leading to it, and had cast herself into it rather than become the bride of such a wretch.
Poor Dora! no wonder her heart shrunk within her at this sad story. But she would gladly have followed the unfortunate lady’s example had the opportunity offered.
Only once did she betray the slightest interest about her apparel, and that was when Nina placed a very large casket before her, and opening it, began to fasten the elegant jewels which lay within it upon her person.
Then for a few moments her eye brightened at beholding so much magnificence.
There were bracelets, ear-rings and necklace; a coronet with which to fasten the vail, from which hung graceful and delicate pendants; little tassels and ornaments to loop up the long, full skirt; a pair of dainty slippers, embroidered in strange devices with the same costly gems; and a girdle for the waist, from which depended two superb tassels, one before, and one behind, and which outrivaled anything that our heroine’s most brilliant imagination had ever pictured.
Madam Alroyd, even through her tears, could not help exclaiming:
“Oh, how lovely!” as Nina clasped the last ornament in its place, and stepped back to note the effect.
She then gently led the fair girl before a full length mirror, and entreated her to look.
Dora raised her sad, lovely eyes, and gazed upon her reflected image, and realized for an instant that she was indeed surpassingly beautiful; but with a shudder she covered her face with her white-gloved hands.
“Oh, Robbie! Robbie!” she exclaimed, as the extent of her shattered hopes rushed over her.
With unsteady steps she walked to a chair, upon which she sat, with clasped hands and a stony heart, waiting for the fatal summons.
It came before she was aware of it.
A curtain noiselessly swung aside, and Ralph Moulton entered.
He stopped spell-bound at sight of the vision before him, and the cloud that had hung on his brow ever since he had parted from little black-eyed Enid Chichester vanished in the presence of his elegant bride-elect.
She did not move, for she had not heard nor seen him enter.
He passed swiftly to her side, bent upon one knee, and taking her icy hand, pressed a passionate kiss upon it.
Then she started as if an asp had stung her, and spurned him from her with loathing. Rising, she stood haughtily erect, and fixed her flashing eyes full upon him.
He arose also, not in the least disturbed at his reception, and bowing low before her, said in tones of earnest admiration:
“My bride, my queen, I am overwhelmed with so much loveliness, and my heart exults with pride over your exquisite beauty.”
Still he heaved a little sigh as his mind wandered involuntarily to the fair Enid.
The hour had arrived, the clergyman was waiting, and Ralph offered Dora his arm, saying, imperatively:
“Come!”
“Go, and I will follow; but I will not touch you until I am obliged to,” she said, icily.
Somewhat crest-fallen he obeyed, turned, and led the way from the room, followed by the three sorrowful women.
They passed through several brilliantly lighted corridors, and at length paused before a wide entrance, draped with heavy curtains, before which stood two pages.
There was a confused murmur of voices within, as if a large company were assembled, and waiting for the appearance of the bridal party.
Dora gasped once or twice, but made no other sign to reveal the struggles of her almost breaking heart.
Without a word Ralph stepped to her side, and taking her hand, drew it within his arm; then making a sign to the pages, the curtains were suddenly swept aside, revealing the magnificent and brilliantly lighted drawing-room, into which Robert was conducted on the night of his capture.
A murmur of admiration greeted the ears of the party as they thus stood revealed to the company within.
At one end of the room there had been erected an altar, over which was a canopy of white velvet looped with gold cord and tassels, a most graceful and elegant affair. The floor of the altar was likewise carpeted with white velvet, with a delicate vine of gold trailing over it.
Thither Ralph proceeded, leading his fair and lovely bride. They reached it, ascended the steps, and placed themselves in position, waiting for the clergyman to speak the words which should make them one.
He arose, an old, gray-headed man, with a sad, pale face, and who glanced with compassion at the white, rigid countenance of Dora.
He knew she was an unwilling bride, and his heart ached in sympathy for the anguish so plainly stamped upon her features, and he rebelled against performing such a mockery in the sight of Heaven.
But he was powerless, for he himself was a prisoner within those vaults, and had received his orders to pronounce them man and wife in defiance of all opposition, or his own life would pay the forfeit.
The assembled guests consisted of about fifty persons in all, and comprised twenty-five of the band of smugglers, most of the captives, and the servants.
All were clad befitting the occasion, and conspicuous among the company were the seven lovely girls before alluded to, all of whom were robed in spotless white.
Near the altar, and with a smile of fiendish exultation upon his evil face, stood Squire Moulton.
He was muttering to himself, in a satisfied sort of tone (a habit he had recently acquired), at the smooth way his plans were working.
“One scene more in this drama, and my revenge will be complete, and then I will rest awhile!” he said.
Ah! thou soulless reprobate! Several scenes more will pass before your gaze ere you shall take your rest!
There was a sudden hush as Father Francis (as he was called) passed slowly from his seat to the foot of the altar.
Faint and trembling the tones fell from his lips as he began the ceremony, and Ralph Moulton felt himself shudder, and his flesh creep, as they floated up through space, and died away in the lofty, brilliantly gemmed vault above them.
The demand came forth, solemnly and fearfully.
“Wilt thou take her whom you hold by the hand to be your true and lawfully wedded wife, to love, honor, and cherish while life doth last?”
“I will!”
Then, with a tear moistening his sunken eye, the holy man turned to the cold, white statue leaning on Ralph’s arm.
“Will you take him who stands by your side to be your true and lawful husband, to love, honor, and obey until death doth part you?”
The hush of death was on the air, an awful stillness reigned, while the clergyman waited for the expected response.
It came not; the white lips moved not—the pale eyelids did not even quiver, and the bosom scarcely fluttered!
Ralph Moulton might have been wedded to a marble statue, for all the reply that could be gained from that calm, cold creature at his side.
He scowled angrily; he grasped the hand he held with such cruel force that at any other time she would have fainted with the pain.
All to no purpose, however, for not a muscle moved, not a sound or motion escaped her, that could be construed into a token of either assent or refusal.
Again the voice of the priest rang out; this time full and clear, almost with a note of warning in its tones——
“Does any one here present know any reason why the banns of matrimony should not be sealed between these two? If so, in the name of Heaven I command you, speak.”
It was an awful moment!
The clergyman raised his clear eyes with an air of almost inspired authority, and scanned every face before him. But not a glance answered his, every orb drooped before his earnest, thrilling gaze, and every face wore a look of conscious guilt.
Each and every one realized the sacrilegiousness of the act, and those who would have answered that solemn appeal dared not; and in that breathless, voiceless silence the fatal, mocking words were spoken, the holy man himself shuddering as he uttered them.
“I pronounce you husband and wife; and what God has joined together let not man put asunder!”
A startling, piercing, horrible shriek instantly followed, and that white-robed form dropped senseless at Ralph Moulton’s feet.
“Hold!” thundered a deep, full voice. “I forbid the banns!”
“Too late! too late!” chattered the squire, starting forward, and wringing his hands with malicious triumph.