The Maiden CHAPTER 16.
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During the next three weeks, Florence was unhappy. She dreaded, almost like the approach of death, her wedding-day. The more intimate she became in her association with the man she had promised to marry — the stronger was her repugnance to the union. She was much with Anna during that time, who strove all that was in her power, to cause her friend to look up for light. Anna did not feel that she ought to encourage Florence to break her contract with Archer. Had she done so, Florence would not long have hesitated; for she did not as yet see principles of action clearly in the light of her own mind, and therefore was easily led by others — when their advice favored her own inclinations.
Archer himself saw that Florence was changed, and he half suspected the cause. This made him more attentive, and more careful to study the inclinations of his betrothed. But enough of his real character was constantly showing itself, to sadden the heart of Florence, at the thought of becoming his bride. The recollection, too, of a young school-mate, to whom she had been attached, and who had been drawn from the path of virtue two years before, by Archer, and banished from virtuous society, was constantly in her mind. All through the day the image of that sweet-faced girl would be before her; and she would often dream of her at night.
By the time her wedding-day arrived, she had, instead of a pure love, a deep aversion for the man she had consented to marry. Nevertheless, all the preparations went on. A large company was invited to grace the nuptial ceremonies, and they assembled at the house of Mr. Armitage according to appointment. Anna Lee, though still firmly declining to act as one of the bridesmaids, was with her friend in her chamber as the hour approached, assisting to dress her for the occasion.
Poor Florence felt wretched! But there seemed no way of escape. She had accepted the young man's offer. There had been a solemn contract, and she did not see how she could break it; particularly, as she knew just as much of the young man's character, as a violator of innocence, before — as since she had agreed to marry him.
All the preparations were completed, and in half an hour Florence would have to stand at the marriage altar, and pledge her faith to a man for whom she felt a strong internal repugnance — to a man who could not make her happy. She desired to be left alone with Anna during the time that remained, and all retired from her chamber but the true-hearted maiden. For ten minutes not a word was spoken by either. Then the silence was broken by a violent fit of weeping. Florence was not able to control her feelings.
Anna tenderly soothed and encouraged her, until she grew externally calm.
"Ah, my dear friend!" said Florence, when she could trust herself to speak, "you cannot know the dreadful feelings I have. I think I could meet death with calmness; but from this union, I shrink with a most intolerable anguish of mind. Last night I dreamed, for, it seems, the twentieth time, that Grace Leary came to see me — you remember sweet little Grace. I thought I was sitting just here, and she opened that door, and came in with a quiet step. She had on a mirthful dress, much worn and soiled, and a bonnet full of bright flowers, which were drooping and faded. All her beauty was gone; and, instead of the soft light of her sweet blue eyes, that we all used so to admire — her glance had in it a fierce, demoniac fire. She came close up to me, and stood and looked me fixedly in the face. I could neither move nor speak. Gradually the whole expression of her face changed. Her eyes grew mild as heaven's soft azure, her cheeks rounded into the contour of health, and the rose blushed in them. The tawdry clothes in which she was dressed changed into garments of snowy white, and she stood smiling upon me — the lovely Grace Leary of other days! I started forward to embrace her, but she stepped back, changed instantly to her former appearance; and pointing to a corner of the room, said sternly —
"For this — he is guilty!"
"I looked, and there stood William Archer. I was wide awake in an instant. Oh, Anna! where, and what is Grace Leary now? The man I am about to marry, violated her; and she is, if still alive, a wretched outcast. That dream I feel to be true — alas! too true! And may it not be sent as a warning? Is it not the voice of Heaven, calling upon me to pause? Oh, if I could only think so, I would stop even here, and start back, from what seems inevitable ruin. There is nothing that I would not do, rather than advance a single step further. Anna! dear Anna! You are wiser and better than I am; tell me what I should do!"
Before Anna Lee could frame her thoughts into a reply, the door opened, and a stranger, closely veiled, came in, and advanced towards the two young friends. Both rose to their feet, in instant surprise. The intruder was small in stature, and delicately formed. Her dress was of rich material, but much marred; and her whole appearance that of one who had experienced some sad change of fortune. For nearly a minute she stood before the astonished inhabitants of the room, with her head bent towards the floor, and her bosom laboring heavily. At last she slowly drew aside the thick veil that concealed her face. It was a young, young face, but sadly marred. There was a broad white brow, and a pair of deep blue eyes, sunken far back in their sockets — delicately-formed lips, and, indeed, a whole countenance of the softest feminine mold. But the face was pale and sad, and had upon it many a line, not written there by Virtue's finger.
"You do not know me," the stranger said, in a low, tremulous voice, breaking the oppressive silence.
That voice stirred a thousand old memories in the hearts of both Florence and Anna.
"It is no wonder," she added, in a sadder tone, "I have changed since we played together as children."
"Grace! Grace Leary! Can it be possible!" exclaimed Anna, starting forward. But the stranger shrunk away, saying,
"No — no — Anna Lee! I will not let your pure hand touch one so polluted as mine. I have come here to perform one good act, among my thousand evil ones. This is the wedding-night of Florence Armitage. I have dreamed of her for weeks past; and now, impelled by something I cannot resist, I have come to warn her against the man to whom she is about to be united. He lured me, with false promises of marriage, from the path of virtue, and then corrupted me more and more, and pressed me down lower and lower, until I am what you see — one of society's vilest outcasts."
"Florence!" and she fixed her eyes upon the young creature who stood trembling before her, all decked out in her bridal robes — "Pause — think — start back! If you advance a single step, you will be wretched for life. I have a right to know the man you are about to marry — I do know him, far better than you possibly can; and I know him to becorrupt, debased, unprincipled. I hold his promise of marriage; a promise by which he enticed me from the right path; and while that promise stands, he has no right to wed another. He can never be truly your husband — while he is pledged to me."
At that moment the door again opened, and Archer himself, accompanied by the mother of Anna, and the bridesmaids, entered. It was the time for the ceremony to begin.
"Aha!" half shrieked the wretched creature as her eyes fell upon the young man himself who stepped back in amazement and alarm. Then raising her finger, and stretching up her slender form to its utmost height, she said, in a calm, clear voice —
"Base violator of innocence! Behold one of your victims! There is an unmarked grave, in a lonely spot near the city. Do you know who sleeps there? Flora Lyons!" This name was uttered mournfully; at its sound, both Anna and Florence startled, and grew pale. The excited girl went on — "I was with her on the night in which she died — alone with her. Oh, it was a dreadful night! She cursed you with her last breath, and well she might — you were her murderer — yes, worse than her murderer; for you killed both body and soul. And now, after all this, the wolf is seeking to consort with the lamb. But it shall not be!"
The strong excitement of the girl's feelings overcame her. As she uttered the last words, her extended arm fell, her head drooped upon her bosom, and she would have fallen forward upon the floor, had not Florence's mother caught her in her arms. When the confusion that followed had subsided, William Archer was not to be seen. He had left the room and the house!
"Thank God! I am saved," murmured Florence, as soon as her bewildered mind grew calm, throwing her arms round the neck of Anna as she spoke. They were again alone, after having seen poor Grace Leary, still insensible, laid in bed, and properly attended to.
"Yes, my dear Florence! you are safe. And may the God whom you have so fervently thanked for His kind, preserving care, keep you ever under the shadow of His wings. Look up to Him, and you need fear no danger. He will be a light to your feet, and guide you safely through the most dark and difficult parts of life's journey."
"I will look to Him — I will trust in him," murmured the thankful girl, drawing her arm tightly about the neck of her friend.
Of the surprise and confusion that took place when it was announced to the company that the wedding would not take place, nothing need be said. Of course there was much embarrassment — many exclamations, and a hundred and one conjectures as to the real cause. All was in due time explained and understood; and all felt glad that Florence had escaped a life of wretchedness.
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