That evening several of her acquaintances called to see the
bridegroom-elect, whom, in Mrs. Remington's hearing, they pronounced
very fine looking and quite agreeable in manner; compliments which
tended in a measure to soothe her irritated feelings and quiet the
rapid beatings of her heart, which for hours after she retired to
rest would occasionally whisper to her that the path she was about
to tread was far from being strewn with flowers.
"He loves me, I know," she thought, "though his manner of showing it
is so different from Harry; but I shall become accustomed to that
after a while, and be very, very happy." And comforted with this
assurance she fell asleep, encircling within her arms the little
Maude, whose name had awakened bitter memories in the heart of him
who in an adjoining chamber battled with thoughts of the dark past,
which now on the eve of his second marriage passed in sad review
before his mind.
Memories there were of a gentle, pale-faced woman, who, when her
blue eyes were dim with coming death, had shudderingly turned away
from him, as if his presence brought her more of pain than joy.
Memories, too, there were of another--a peerlessly beautiful
creature who, ere he had sought the white-faced woman for his wife,
had trampled on his affections and spurned as a useless gift his
offered love. He hated her now, he thought; and the little black-
haired child, sleeping so sweetly in its mother's arms, was hateful
in his sight, because it bore that woman's name. One, two, three--
sounded the clock, and then he fell asleep, dreaming that underneath
the willows which grew in the churchyard, far off on Laurel Hill,
there were two graves instead of one; that in the house across the
common there was a sound of rioting and mirth, unusual in that
silent mansion. For she was there, the woman whom he had so madly
loved, and wherever she went crowds gathered about her as in the
olden time.
"Maude Glendower, why are you here?" he attempted to say, when a
clear, silvery voice aroused him from his sleep, and starting up, he
listened half in anger, half in disappointment, to the song which
little Maude Remington sang as she sat in the open door awaiting the
return of her mother, who had gone for the last time to see the
sunshine fall on Harry's grave.