Chapter 36

"To feel that we adore With such refined excess, That though the heart would burst with more, We could not live with less."

MOORE.

Fair rose the morn of the day which was to unite the destinies of Miles Arundel and of Eveline Dunning, as if to make some amends for the clouds which had attended the progress of their affection.

With a tear in her eye, and smiles in the dimples of her plump cheeks, Dame Spikeman looked on the adorning of the lady for the marriage ceremony, by the cunning fingers of Prudence Rix. She thought, as she gazed on the fair, young face, of her own maiden beauty, of the timid happiness that palpitated in her bosom on her wedding-day, of the dress that heightened her charms, and (shall I so soon acknowledge it?) of what would be becoming for herself on a like occasion, wherein she was to bear a principal part, and the too-fascinating Master Prout another. Let not the solemn pretender to decorum, who, in proportion to his demureness, is apt to be worse than others, with owlish visage quote, "frailty, thy name is woman," or, "e'er those shoes were old," or whatever musty apothegms besides, as stale and senseless. The name of Frailty is no more woman than man, and old shoes have no business at weddings. Stand aside O censorious reader, (I desire not thy acquaintance,) while I whisper to both maid and widow, what, probably, they have often pondered--that life is short, and that in Heaven they neither marry nor are given in marriage.

"Bless thy sweet face!" said the dame. ("Pull down the stomacher a little, Prudence; an' it had been a thought longer it were better.) Ne'er saw I so lovely a bride."

"It is the latest London fashion," muttered Prudence, "that hath come to these outlandish parts, where, thank the Lord, our stay will not be much longer than the stomacher."

"What is the girl chattering about?" said the dame. "Why, Prudence Pert, thou wilt tear the beautiful satin with thine impatience."

"You have already made me prick my fingers three times, dame," answered the waiting-maid, pettishly. "I never could dress my young lady aright, when I was talked to. There! O dear! you have made me cut a ribbon in the wrong place!"

"Did ever one see the like!" exclaimed the widow, as, with a jerk of the petulant Prudence, a few stitches now gave way. "Why, minx, thou art as much flustrated as if thou wert to be married thyself."

"I know somebody, I guess," said the girl, in so low a tone as to be heard only by her mistress, close to whose ear was her mouth, "who would like to be flustrated in that manner."

Eveline could not restrain her smiles at the impertinence of her maid, and her gaiety seemed to please the good dame.

"Thou art a sensible child, Eveline," she said. "Now have I known many a wedding, and generally there are quite as many tears as smiles at them. I like not that, exactly, though I believe I was as great a simpleton as most, when I mar--(here the dame decorously put her handkerchief to her eyes to receive the tears which she did not shed)--when I--; but I must not think of my sorrow, when thy happiness is just commencing." (Dame Spikeman wiped her eyes, and went on more composedly.) "There is nothing thou hast cause to fear, and thou wilt soon get used to it. But, who is to be thy bridesmaid?"

"It was my intent to have had little Neebin," replied the young lady. "It would have sounded so prettily in England to say that an Indian Princess stood up with me, for Miles says that she is the sister of a great king--of Waqua--; thou dost recollect him, Prudence?"

"The funny salvage," said the girl, "who mistook a painting for a live man. But to think of the like of the sister of an Indian, though he be a handsome fellow, going to the 'menial halter with my mistress!" she added, tossing her head.

"The danger is past, Prudence," said Eveline, "for Miles tells me she has run away from the Governor's, and was last seen in the woods with one of her brother's Paniese, as the savages call their greatest warriors, Town--, Town--, I forget his name, but they were going in the direction of their own country."

"Toweringantic was the salvage's name," said Prudence. "I remember it very well, because it sounds so like English."

"That is it not precisely," said the young lady, with a smile; "but it matters not about the name. Our little Princess has fled to her home, and I am left without a bridesmaid."

"The ungrateful heathen!" exclaimed the dame. "Only to think of her deserting the comfortable house of our right worshipful Governor, and instruction in the Christian graces by godly Master Phillips, for the smoky wigwams and powawing of the Indians. The girl, I am sure, will come to no good, and I will never trust one of these Canaanites again."

"Nay; but dame," said Eveline, "I rejoice that she escaped. I did much pity her in her captivity, for she seemed to me like a wild bird, that hath all its life been accustomed to fly in the air, which had been caught and put into a cage, where it sits constantly with moping head and drooping wings, forgetful of the songs which made its woodland home so sweet."

"I did never like to disagree in opinion with thee, Eveline," said the dame, "and leastwise would I do so, of all days in the year, on thy wedding-day; so have it as thou wilt. For thy sweet sake, whom I am so soon to lose, I could find it in my heart to be pleased at anything the little savage might do, were she twenty times a heathen Amalakite or Jebusite."

"Dame," said Eveline, kissing her comely cheek, "how shall I ever be able to repay thy motherly kindness? O, wherever I may be, and whatever my lot, I will ever think of thee as my second mother."

"Dear child," replied the dame, moved to tears, which flowed with womanly facility, "never had mother a sweeter and more loving daughter than thou hast been to me. Hast thou not done more than most daughters, in giving me all the property that remains to thee here?"

"Speak not of it, dame," answered Eveline, "though it is Miles' gift, for he desired me to give it thee."

"Oh! dame, do not disturb my young lady more, for if you get her crying, think how her eyes would look," here interposed Prudence, very sensibly.

"It is time that I were attending to my own apparelling, which, in looking at thee, I quite forgot," said the widow, rising, and leaving the apartment.

The marriage, which took place at the house of the Governor, was private, and attended only by some of the principal personages of the colony and their families. Besides the Knight of the Golden Melice, Sir Richard Saltonstall, who was to sail in the same ship with the young people, came with his two daughters, as did also Master Increase Nowell, and Master Bradstreet. No minister was present, the order resenting, it may be, in a quiet way, an invasion of their prerogative, which excluded them from business of this sort; but in the solemn and graceful manner in which the accomplished Winthrop performed the ceremony, no one noticed any deficiency, not even Eveline herself, who, indeed, was thinking of other matters. Winthrop concluded his part with a little speech, in which he reminded the young couple of the new duties they had assumed, and of the loving mystery whereby two souls were united into one, like two brooks, which, pouring each into the other their bright waters, flow on, inseparably joined, to the ocean of eternity. Something he said, too, of the blessedness of a true faith, as a crowning glory, without which the world was but an unprofitable desert.

Scarcely had the congratulations which followed the sweet voice of the Governor ceased, when a stranger, an honored friend of Master Bradstreet, and who had come with him, stepped forward, and saluting Arundel by the title of the Earl of Cliffmere, informed him that he had matters of importance to communicate.

"I had waited upon you, my lord, before," he said, "even upon the instant of my arrival, had I known where to find you; but I suspected you not under your assumed name."

"I welcome you," said the Earl, advancing and taking the stranger's hand, "I welcome you, Master Hatherly, to the new world, which I this day leave, probably forever. As for thy news, I think thou art anticipated: I am informed by letters brought by the vessel wherein you came, that my father and eldest brother are no more, and that the coronet which I would willingly place upon their living brows, alas, is mine. Wonderful is the drama of life. I abandoned rank and fortune," he added, looking with eyes swimming in love upon his wife, "to seek that without which they possessed no value. They have pursued me across the sea, and, besides, I have obtained my dearest treasure."

The astonished Eveline hid her face in the bosom of her husband, while tears of happiness fell fast. Bewildered, amazed at the discovery of the rank of her lover, she knew not what to say; but amid all her confusion, prevailed triumphantly a sense of sparkling joy, of full contentment, and of radiant hope.

"Why should I conceal from you, noble Winthrop, from you, my valued friend, Sir Christopher, or from any of you, my other friends, with whom I would leave no unsatisfactory remembrance of myself, the little romance that brought me among you," continued the Earl. "Know, that a second son of the deceased Earl of Cliffmere, I wooed, in the character of an humble painter, the sweet daughter of Edmund Dunning. He aspired higher than to unite the destinies of his only child with those of an unknown artist, and looked coldly on my suit. He left England with her, and I, unable to endure the pangs of separation, desired to follow. My mother knew of my attachment from the beginning, and to my entreaties yielded her acquiescence to my desires, for she loved me greatly, and had informed herself of the worth of her to whom I had given my heart, but required me to wait for the permission of my father (absent at the time on the continent) before I followed Eveline to this new world. That permission I received, and straightway departed. Still I continued to conceal my true name and station from even Eveline herself, for a reason, perhaps, more romantic than rational; for, with selfish jealousy, I chose to be loved for my own sake, nor did I mean my secret should be revealed until I had presented my wife to my parents,--but the curtain has been unexpectedly lifted, and ye know all."

"I congratulate you, my lord," said Winthrop, "and will venture to do so also in the name of all present, upon the auspicious termination of your fortunes among us, and only lament that so little time is left us to express our respect. When returned to our dear mother England, from whose bosom we are self-banished, yet whom, with filial reverence, we love, we trust that you will not forget your brethren in the wilderness. It is upon the far-seeing judgment of those in high places, as well as upon the zeal of the people, [all under God,] that we rely to assist us in extending the material and earthly power of our country, as well as in spreading the doctrines of true religion."

"Be sure, sir," answered the Earl, "that I will endeavor to do my duty toward you according to my honest convictions. And now, Eveline, bid farewell. The favoring breeze is bellying in the half unfurled sails, gallant Captain Sparhawk is impatient, and we must away."

Lady Eveline fell upon the neck of the weeping Dame Spikeman, and after kissing her repeatedly, exchanged farewells with those around her, [as did all about to depart,] and then, accompanied by a numerous train, the passengers proceeded to the ship, whither the Lady Geraldine had preceded them, and where, also, they found Philip Joy. The sails were cast off from the yards and hoisted home; the fair wind gracefully curved the canvas, and the good ship, with silver waves breaking at her prow, and a stream of light following in her wake, gallantly stood down the bay.