“Mother; Oh, mother! Give me something to help me to go through this day—something to stupefy—something to deaden me!”

It was Odalite’s voice.

She had arisen from a sleepless bed, and come into her mother’s room as soon as she had heard her father leave it.

She was, perhaps, the whitest, coldest, saddest bride that had ever seen a wedding morn.

Mrs. Force was standing before her dressing-glass, engaged in braiding her own bright hair. She turned and looked at her daughter again, with the often-recurring thought:

“Yes, yes, if it were not for her father’s sake, I would rather dress my child for her burial than for this bridal.”

She took the girl in her arms and kissed her, asking tenderly:

“What is it, dear?”

“Mother, I don’t know. I dare not trust myself to go through with to-day’s work. I have such strange, wild, mad risings in my heart, in my nerves, in my brain! I want something to overpower all this, and keep it down.”

“My poor, poor darling! Oh, if I could suffer instead of you! Ah me! Must the innocent always suffer for the guilty?”

“You were never, never guilty, dear mother. And you also suffer. Ah! I see that you do. Don’t grieve for me, mother, darling. Indeed, I am not—I am not——” She was about to add, “not unhappy,” but truth arrested her words, and after a little pause she said: “I only want you to give me something to steady me. That is all.” Then, seeing the anguish of the lady’s face, she smiled wanly and added: “It will all be right, mother, dear. I know it will. I am trying to do my duty, and the Lord will not forsake me. It is only the—the wildness that comes over me. I want something to subdue it.”

“Sit down, dear; sit down,” said Elfrida Force, leading her daughter to the easy chair by the fire, and leaving her reclining there, while she herself went to her dressing-case and brought out that little vial of colorless liquid, that looked as innocent as the purest spring water, and yet contained death to a dozen strong men, if administered.

“A teaspoonful of this would give her peace forever,” whispered the tempter. And the woman shuddered, and nearly let fall the bottle. She recovered herself, dropped half a dozen drops on a lozenge, and brought it to her daughter, saying gently:

“This will quiet you, my dear.”

Odalite took it with a smile and put it between her lips.

The door opened and Wynnette and Elva came in in their nightdresses.

They had “resigned” themselves “to the inevitable,” especially as they saw that Le had ceased to grieve over it, and had even consented to be the groomsman, while they were to be the bridesmaids.

“I am sure, if Le don’t mind it, we needn’t,” said Wynnette.

“And, oh, what beautiful dresses we have to wear!” added Elva.

Now they had burst into their mother’s chamber, in all the excitement inspired by the occasion.

“We went into your room, Odalite, and as you were not there, we knew you must be here,” said Elva, running and throwing her arms around her sister’s neck.

“All right this morning, Odalite?” inquired Wynnette.

“Yes,” quietly replied the girl, upon whom the powerful sedative was already beginning to act.

“My children, go and get ready for breakfast. It is ordered half an hour earlier this morning on account of the wedding. We must be at the church by eleven o’clock,” said Mrs. Force.

The two little girls scuttled away to hurry on their home clothes to go down to the dining room.

Mrs. Force had finished dressing herself, and now spoke to her daughter, who was still in her nightgown, reclining back in the chair.

“Odalite, you need not exert yourself to come down, dear. I will send you something up here. What shall it be?”

“Anything you like, mamma,” languidly replied the girl.

The lady left the chamber and went down to the dining room, where she found all the family, with the exception of the bride-elect, assembled.

The bridegroom-expectant, who was still a member of the household, advanced politely, greeted his prospective mother-in-law and led her to her seat at the head of the table.

“Where is Odalite?” inquired Mr. Force, as he took his seat at the foot.

“I have left her in my apartment. She must not fatigue herself by making two toilets. I shall send her breakfast up,” replied the lady.

“I hope she is quite well this morning?” said Col. Anglesea.

“Quite well,” replied the lady.

And when she had served all her circle with coffee, tea, or cocoa, she called a servant to bring a waiter, and she prepared and sent up a dainty little repast to her daughter.

“The carriages will be at the door by ten o’clock, my dears, so you will please to be ready. It will take us full an hour to drive to All Faith. I hope the church will be well warmed,” said the father of the family, as they all arose from the table.

“We will be ready in time,” replied Mrs. Force, as they passed out of the dining room.

Leonidas Force looked so white and grim that little Elva paused behind the rest to speak to him.

“Le! Le! what’s the matter? I do believe you do care, after all.”

“Hush, Elva,” said the youth, in a whisper.

“Le! if you do care, you can forbid the banns, on account of that engagement of yours. You can, indeed! Wynnette and I have been reading over the marriage service in the prayer book, and there is a place where it says, ‘If any man here present can show cause’——You know why it shouldn’t be done, it wouldn’t be done, and there an end! And I am sure you could show cause, Le!”

“Yes, dear; but I won’t!” Le replied.

“Elva! If you don’t stir your stumps—I mean hurry up—you won’t be ready in time!” called Wynnette, from the bannister above.

Elva broke away, and ran upstairs.

And then began the toil of the toilets.

Every bedchamber was occupied as a dressing room.

Col. Anglesea, under the hands of his valet, was preparing himself in his own apartment.

Le, in his little den, was dressing unassisted.

Mr. Force, in a little closet adjoining his wife’s room, was shaved and brushed and polished up by Jake, his “body servant.”

Mrs. Force, with the assistance of her maid Luce, first dressed her daughter Odalite, and seating her on her large easy chair, left her while she dressed herself.

Miss Meeke, in the children’s room, first made their toilets and then her own.

By half-past nine o’clock all the women of the family were assembled in the drawing room waiting for the gentlemen and the carriages.

The white, cold, still bride wore a trained dress of white velvet, made high in the neck and long in the sleeves, and trimmed with swansdown; a wreath of orange blossoms; a veil of white Spanish lace. A servant stood near her holding a large white fur cloak, with hood and muff, to be worn in the carriage.

The two little bridesmaids wore dresses of white cashmere, also made with high neck and long sleeves, and trimmed with white satin. They carried large white woolen wraps, to be worn in the carriage.

Mrs. Force wore a rich purple velvet dress, with a bonnet to match, and an India shawl.

Miss Meeke wore a dark brown silk, and brown velvet jacket and hat.

The gentlemen appeared, and the carriages were announced almost at the same moment.

“Have you had foot-warmers put in the ladies’ coach?” inquired Mr. Force of the servant in attendance.

“Yes, sah, an’ in all ob ’em,” the man replied.

“Come, my dear,” the father said, taking the white fur cloak from the waiting woman and wrapping it carefully around his daughter before leading her out.

Col. Anglesea gave his arm to Mrs. Force, and Le to Miss Meeke, while the two little girls followed arm in arm.

Three carriages were drawn up before the house.

The bride-elect, with her father and mother, occupied the first; the two young bridesmaids, with their governess, the second; and the bridegroom, with his groomsman, the third.

And in this order they left the house and took the road leading to All Faith Church.

It was a clear, cold, bright winter day. Their road went through bare woods, up and down rolling hills, and across frozen creeks.

In the foremost carriage Odalite sat wrapped, as to her person, in manifold white furs; as to her spirit, in a dreamy reverie.

“Are you cold, dear?” her father inquired, anxiously.

“No, papa.”

“Are you not feeling well?”

“Oh, yes, papa.”

“You are so very quiet,” Mr. Force said.

“That is natural. Let us leave her to herself, dear,” Mrs. Force murmured, in a low tone.

An hour’s slow drive over difficult roads brought them near All Faith Church, an ancient edifice standing in a large grove.

As they approached they found the road on each side encumbered by a moving multitude, all going in one direction, and growing thicker the nearer they came to the church. These were driving, riding, or walking. There were carriages of every description of gentility or of shabbiness; there were horses and mules, donkey carts and ox carts, all crowded with eager spectators, and there were many foot passengers.

“Surely you never invited all these people?” said Mr. Force, in dismay.

“I have not invited more than thirty; and these all have cards; but people do not need invitations; there is nothing on earth to prevent them from coming here and crowding the roads and the churchyard,” Mrs. Force explained.

At this moment some ill-advised person raised a cheer, and the multitude took it up and cheered the bridal procession until the welkin rang with their roaring.

“Hip! hip!! hurrah!!!”

In the midst of all this the three carriages entered the yard and drew up before the church.

The parties alighted.

The father took his daughter on his arm and led her into the building, which was well warmed.

There, in the vestibule, he relieved her of her fur cloak, while her two little sisters, who were close behind, let down her train and smoothed the folds of her dress.

The style of the little country church did not admit of much display of pageantry.

The altar and the walls were decorated with evergreens and holly. That was all.

Mr. Force led his daughter up the aisle, followed first by the two little bridesmaids, and next by the other members of the party without much regard to precedence.

The rector, in full canonicals, stood within the chancel.

The bridal train, formed before the altar, bowed to the rector, and knelt on the cushions.

The crowd, with which the church was filled, arose in mass and stretched their necks to get sight of the proceedings.

The rector opened the book, and began the well-known ritual:

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here, in the sight of God and in the face of this company, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” and so forth.

When the minister concluded the exordium by the solemn warning:

“‘If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak.’”

In the pause that now followed Elva looked imploringly toward Le.

But Le kept silence, looking as grim as the Sphinx. Apparently he saw no just cause to interfere; nor, apparently, did any one else.

The ceremony went on to the question put to bridegroom and bride, and which was answered by the former with a firm, distinct—

“I will.”

And the latter with a steady, quiet—

“I will.”

“‘Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?’” demanded the minister.

Mr. Force stepped forward, took the hand of his daughter and placed it within that of the bridegroom, almost shuddering with a vague presentiment of evil, when he felt, even through her kid glove, how deadly cold and heavy that little hand was!

And the rites went on, and on, and on, and nothing happened to arrest them—no thunderbolt from heaven descended from the wintry sky to scatter the bridal party—no earthquake caused the ground to yawn and swallow them.

The rites went on, and on, and on, to their bitter end, where the voice of the officiating minister, assuming awful solemnity, concludes the ceremony with these warning words:

“‘Those whom God hath joined together let not man put asunder.’”

“Yes!” shouted a voice, at which every one started, and the bridegroom grew pale. “Yes! That may be all very well as far as it goes! ‘Whom God has joined together, let not man put asunder’ by no manner of means whatever! But them as the devil has joined together a woman may put asunder, and she will, too, in double-quick time!”

This shocking interruption came from a short, stout, dark, but very handsome, and very well-dressed person, who, in great excitement, was elbowing and pushing her way up the center aisle toward the chancel at which the startled and affrighted bridal party stood.