THE WEDDING DRESS.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 12, Issue 46, 14 June 1901, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE WEDDING DRESS.

li, you arc surprised WrITY) Elcben, that the cause me so much I every young , woman, appears to be the acme of happiness. Bat my bridal day was the most wretched I ever passed. When I was your age my father had already received his discharge from military service because of defective eyesight, which, through the maladroitness of a physician, resulted finally in blindness. His meagre captain’s pension hardly sufficed for his expenses. He had six children, two sons and four daughters, of which I was the eldest. We girls were all pretty, and therefore our parents believed that we should net long stay together at home ; but as we v.ae without dowry we had romainded now uqwooed, Ti is hour in which I narrate this story to you I can still hear my mother’s voice when she said to me one day—- “ Anna, Doctor Thurmeier desires to address you.” Her voice broke, her eyes streamed with tears. Neatly fainting. 1 leaned against the kitchen table. “ I cannot receive him,” I cried ; yet even as I spoke I saw before me the worn form of nay mother, the poverty and need of the house, and knew that through my marriage this misery would be removed, for Thurmeier was a rich man To mo it was infinitely hard to give my word, for I was in lore with another. This other was a poor artist, as poor as myself ; yet wo had both looked hopefully forward into the future, for uui love was sincere. For a month Erhardt had been in Italy, and as yet I had rect ived no nows of him. Was ho living or dead, of had he forgotten mo ? 1 had not forgotten him, and could never do so. It cost me a bitter inward struggle to yield to circumstances and agree to become the doctor’s wife. The engagement was only of a week’s duration. My betrothed did not terment me with tenderness ; apparently he bad neither time nor inclination for that; he was twenty years older than l and a quiet, earnest man. Time fled, and the day set for ray marriage came, Thurmeier had bad made for me the most splendid bride’s dress, and presented mo with imny jewels, while my parents and sisters were 4 relieved in a great degree ef the expenses attending the wedding. 1 felt slready iu marriage bonds, standing in the sitting-room upstairs which I was leaving for ever, and 1 thought with 'a troubled heart and many tears of my distant lover. Presently I heard a heavy step ascending the stair. J thought my betrothed was coming, and drie 1 my eyes ; but it was only the letter carrier who stood smiling in the doorway as be handed me a letter. My eyes fell upon it and my heart stood still. 1 could hardly thank the well-mcuuing old man for his good wishes. The letter was from Erhardt. I read it without lifting my eyes, for he wrote that ho had received bo answer to any of the many letters ho had written me. From an acquaintance whom be met in Milan he learned that I was to marry Thurmeier. He begged me to be true to him, and to wait patiently for a short time, when he hoped to obtain a position which would render it possible for him to return home and make me his wife. There it all stood out, black igainst white, and I was reading it upon my wedding day ! 1 bettered to my mother. Anxiety and terror wi re iu her glance as, pale and unnerved, I slood before her, “ Iu God’s name, what ails you ?” she cried. I could only silently hand her Ihe letter. Nothing can be more terrible than to ice youi own mother upon her knees, shamed, repentant, before you. I had conjectured rightly. She had secreted Erhardt’s letters to me, and then, when she perceived the rich doctor’s interest iu me, destroyed them. By accident a letter had been placed in my own band. Had she not been so exceedingly busy this also would have been withheld, and Erhardt would have believed me faithless, “Mother,” I cried, " you have deceived my lover—l love you no more. Stand up, however ; 1 cannot see you there ” 1 raised the trembling woman and placed her on the sofa. “ Is it not possible, mother, if I say to the dealer ”

“ He knows it,” she said, in a low tone. “ Ob, Anna, iu God’s name do n»t shame us do not let your father know how we have treated you ! It would be my death. Oh, my child, spare me that !”

I went blindly away. Then my bridegroom came up the.stairs. I heard him speak to ray younger sister. I made an effort—l woald throw myself out of the window. Better be dead than in marriage bouds to this man who bad deceived me. But the next moment my bridegroom stood beside me to conduct me to the carriage, and mechanically I allowed myself to be led away. The wedding, the marriage feast, the good wishes of the guests, all passed unnoted by me. My sisters frollicked and jested with mibrothers, ray father forgot his misfortunes ; only my mother, seated in her festival attire stared moodily before her, telling me with every glance what a weight lay upsu her heart, A more sileut bride had never sat at a wedding meal; 1 soarcely hoard what my husband said ; a thousand wild thoughts passed through my mind, At last I resolved to tell him all. He, a man of wide experience, would pity me and show indulgence if he knew 1 could never love him. When the wedding entertainment was over we took our way to his magnificent residence, which hitherto 1 bud always regarded with a sort ef wonder. He led me through some chambers and delivered to me the keys. He excused himself then, saying •’ “I have to see a patient and will return later, Iu the meatime Bridget Berioht will show you ever the bouse.” He culled to the housekeeper add departed with a brief “Good eveniag.” The words that 1 bad arranged on our homo journey to say to him remained unspoken. A gentle, friendly werd, a smile, would have given me courage ; but wheu 1 glanced at bis calm, grave countenance I remained silent. I saw that 1 must yield to the inevitable. In the days that fallowed I was very miserable. My young heart sought after love and found only wretchedness aucl pain. Often I wished te shriek out in wild despair, but dreaded to meet the cold grey eyes that would at the end only mock me if I said “ Lei me be free ! Send me away to the eud of the world, ouly give me freedom!” Soon after my marriage my father became heir to a considerable property. My sacrifice bad been made for nothing. I was iu deep grief at this, yet could let no one remark it, certainly not my mother, whom, since my marriage, I had not willingly seen. I was obliged to go into society and make visils, and always showed a cheerful countenance, bul my fortunate position left but pain iu my heart. It brought me despair.

We were one evening invited t« a friend’s bouse. As we st-pped into the illuminated drawing-room my first gUuea fell up n Erhardt. 1 was almost ready to sink as our eyes met, and I was viry thanklul to him tint lit- treated us formally, as mere acquaints! ces.

Was it hypocrisy, prudent reserve, or had he forgotten me P My husband went away, surrounded by his ftieuds, and for a time I remained with the company ; but at last 1 could bear it no longer. My bead ached, I trembled in every limb, and my teeth chattered as if from cold. Thinking myself unobserved, I took ray way to a small apartment beyond. It was empty and but faintly lighted. I had not been seated there long when I heard a well-remembered step. Without seeing 1 knew who the new-comer was, I could have cried aloud in foolish joy when Erbardt again stood before me. He had opened bis lips to speak reproachful words, but I bade him be silent. “ Tell me but one thing, Anna ; have you quite forgotten me ? Am 1 to be utterly without hope ? ” Then tender glance,the tone of his voice took from rue the last remnant of my composure. “ Erhardt,” I cied, “ be merciful to me ! All is certainly ever now—l must bear it—but do not condemn me unheard. 1 had received no letter from yon, and believed that you had forgotten me' One only did 1 receive—and that on my wedding day ” Something like this I stammered confusedly. “ 1 knew it was so ! ” he answered joyously. “ When I saw you enter, looking so scornful and pale, I knew that your heart still belonged to me. My lore, my poor, dear love ! ” The sympathy that lay in bis words overcame me. The next moment I was testing upon bis breast, upon bis heart. It was so solemnly slow in the chamber that it was almost like a place of death, 1 thought I heard a step outside and recovered my senses. Perb&ps someone sought me. My husband I Like a flash the thought passed through my brain : “ How can you live again with him when to-day you have found your Erbardt ?” I could not bear to leave him though I felt it was time to part. “ Farewell,” I said softly, “ and begrudge me nob my dearly bought calmness. Forget me and this hour, and be happy.” “ And you, my poor girl ?” “I am the wife of an honourable man. And now God keep you !” 1 left him and passed into the drawing-room. The hostess came to meet me with the intelligence that my husband, feeling slightly indisposed. had left the house. Unwell P I comprehended at once. He spied upon me, hid heard what 1 said to Erhardt, and therefore htd gone away. “ I must go home,” I exclaimed. In the ball I met Erhardt who would have accompanied me. “ I go alone,” I said almost angrily, and started through the storm of rain as rapidly as my cab could carry me. As I approached the bouse I saw a light in hy husband's chamber. He opened the door at my knock, and appeared astonished to see me. 1 seated myself for a moment, to get my thoughts in order to confess all to him, and receive from his mouth my sentence ; but I could not find the right words ; they choked me. At last 1 began timidly ; “ They told me that you were unwell, bub were there not other reasons why you came sway from the party ?” “ Yes, there were other reasons,” he answered. “ I knew it. You saw me spanking with Erhardt, and were angry.” “ You Lave been speaking with him P” he replied indifferently. “ Well, seme good may come from that. I have a confeision to make to you, Anna. Let me (ell it to you briefly. I am a ruined man—poor. My banker has failed, and all my property is gone.” His voice quavered, and he beat nervously upon the table. / “ But you still have your practice,” I ventured to offer.

“ Do you think it would be possible for me to continue to live here,in poverty, and struggling for my daily bread ? You know. Anna, that 1 have given up the greater number of my patients iu the younger village. I could hardly live upon my studints. The only thing in my misfortune is that it may uot have come too late for you. You will return to your parents and if your lover desires to marry you, which I do not doubt, in the end your happiness will be secured. Yes,” bo added hastily, seeing that I was about to interrupt him, “ from our wedding day I have been sorry for my selfi-huess in binding your young life and mine together, and I would not, under similar circumstances,marry you, seeing how wretched you have been.” Ho covered bis face with his hands, and a deep groan came from his breast, 1 was astounded, and stepped to his side. " And you, Gottfried, what will become of you P” 1 asked him, geatly.

The next moment I almost shrieked. I saw that he held a pistol iu his left band. He was endeavouring to conceal it from my sight. God be thanked that I did not come too late ! The crime might still be averted. “ Gottfried,” I began, “ I feel that y( u arc in the right to send me away. 1 have been no true spouse; I have.been to you only a memory, a spirit; you have been alone, for I have lived apart from you,”

I took his hands in mine. I had felt till now curiously shy in finding myself opposite him—bound, as it seemed, to him. *• Please let me remain with you. I will share your misfortune and make good result from it, and rob your sin of its evil results. 1 will do my duty as well as 1 can, only let me remain near you and try once mere,”

He turned towards me and Ist his band fall upon my shoulder, sobbing so that his whole body shook. I was overcome with the deepest sorrow at sight of Lis distress, and I vowed from that moment to be faithful to him, and that nothing should part us. And thus my real marriage life began. All mistrust, all shyness was put away from that time. My husband cast aside his gloom, and bis glance became cheerful in the future when I was beside him.

Gradually we rose again to prosperity. After that severe period of labour and care I first learned to appreciate bis noble and upright character. Through the struggles of those many anxious days we lived together, quietly and happily, and wheu after some years God sent us a little daughter, your mother de-ired no fairer lot.

You, my dear child, never knew your grandpapa ; all who did, however, honoured him as the noblest, best of men, and it was permitted me till his last breath to soothe and comfort bis life.

Forget aow the terror that grandmamma felt on umxpectedly seeing you masqueradiug in her wedding gowu. Please God that fate may uot bring to your young heart such pain as was mine.