There was a fresh grave made in the churchyard, and another chair
vacant at the cottage, when Maddy was at last alone. Unfettered by
care and anxiety for sick ones, her aching heart was free to go out
after the loved ones over the sea, go to the elm-shaded mansion she
had heard described so often, and where now two brides were busy with
their preparations for the bridal hurrying on so fast. Since the
letter read in the smoky, October woods, Maddy had not heard from Guy
directly, though Lucy had written since, a few brief lines, telling
how happy she was, how strong she was growing, and how much like
himself Guy was becoming. Maddy had been less than a woman if the last
intelligence had failed to affect her unpleasantly. She did not wish
Guy to regret his decision; but to be forgotten so soon after so
strong protestations of affection, was a little mortifying, and
Maddy's heart throbbed painfully as she read the letter, half hoping
it might prove the last she should receive from Lucy Atherstone. Guy
had left no orders for any changes to be made at Aikenside; but Agnes,
who was largely imbued with a love of bustle and repair, had insisted
that at least the suite of rooms intended for the bride should be
thoroughly renovated with new paper and paint, carpets and furniture.
This plan Mrs. Noah opposed, for she guessed how little Guy would care
for the change; but Agnes was resolved, and as she had great faith in
Maddy's taste, she insisted that she should go to Aikenside, and pass
her judgment upon the improvements. It would do her good, she said--
little dreaming how much it cost Maddy to comply with her wishes, or
how fearfully the poor, crushed heart ached, as Maddy went through the
handsome rooms fitted up for Guy's young bride; but Mrs. Noah guessed
it all, pitying so much the white-faced girl, whose deep mourning
robes told the loss of dear ones by death; but gave no token of that
great loss, tenfold worse than death.
"It was wicked in her to fetch you here," she said to Maddy, one day
when in Lucy's room she found her sitting upon the floor, with her
head bowed down upon the window sill. "But law, she's a triflin'
thing, and didn't know 'twould kill you, poor child, poor Maddy!" and
Mrs. Noah laid her hand kindly on Maddy's hair. "Maybe you'd better go
home," she continued, as Maddy made no reply; "it must be hard, to be
here in the rooms, and among the things which by good rights should be
yours."