Part 68 (1/2)
Mrs. Dodd knew her son's face too well to waste inquiries. ”Give me my child!” she cried, in such a burst of mother's anguish long restrained, that even the insult to the bride was forgotten for one moment, till she was seen tottering into her mother's arms and cringing and trying to hide bodily in her: ”Oh, throw a shawl over me,” she moaned; ”hide all this.”
Well, they all did what they could. Jane hung round her neck and sobbed, and said, ”I've a sister now, and no brother.” The bridesmaids cried.
The young curate ran and got the fly to the vestry-door: ”Get into it,”
he said, ”and you will at least escape the curious crowd.”
”G.o.d bless you, Mr. Hurd,” said Edward, half choked. He hurried the insulted bride and her mother in; Julia huddled and shrank into a corner under Mrs. Dodd's shawl: Mrs. Dodd had all the blinds down in a moment; and they went home as from a funeral.
Ay, and a funeral it was; for the sweetest girl in England buried her hopes, her laugh, her May of youth, in that church that day.
When she got to Albion Villa, she cast a wild look all around for fear she should be seen in her wedding clothes, and darted moaning into the house.
Sarah met her in the hall, smirking; and saying, ”Wish you j----”
The poor bride screamed fearfully at the mocking words, and cut the conventional phrase in two as with a razor; then fled to her own room and tore off her wreath, her veil, her pearls, and had already strewed the room, when Mrs. Dodd, with a foot quickened by affection, burst in and caught her half fainting, and laid her weary as old age, and cold as a stone, upon her mother's bosom, and rocked her as in the days of happy childhood never to return, and bedewed the pale face with her own tears.
Sampson took the bridesmaids each to her residence, on purpose to leave Edward free. He came home, washed his face, and, sick at heart, but more master of himself, knocked timidly at Julia's door.
”Come in, _my son,_” said a broken voice.
He crept in, and saw a sorry sight. The travelling dress and bonnet were waiting still on the bed; the bridal wreath and veil lay on the floor; and so did half the necklace, and the rest of the pearls all about the floor; and Julia, with all her hair loose and hanging below her waist, lay faintly quivering in her mother's arms.
Edward stood and looked, and groaned.
Mrs. Dodd whispered to him over Julia: ”Not a tear! not a tear!”
”Dead, or false?” moaned the girl: ”dead, or false? Oh that I could believe he was false; no, no, he is dead, dead.”
Mrs. Dodd whispered again over her girl.
”Tell her something: give us tears--the world for one tear!”
”What shall I say?” gasped Edward.
”Tell her the truth, and trust to G.o.d, whose child she is.” Edward knelt on the floor and took her hand--
”My poor little Ju,” he said, in a voice broken with pity and emotion, ”would you rather have him dead, or false to you?”
”'Why false, a thousand times. It's Edward. Bless your sweet face, my own, own brother; tell me he is false, and not come to deadly harm.”
”You shall judge for yourself,” he groaned. ”I went to his lodgings. He had left the town. The woman told me a letter came for him last night.
A letter in--a female hand. The scoundrel came in from us; got this letter; packed up his things directly; paid his lodging; and went off in a two-horse fly at eight o'clock in the morning.”
CHAPTER x.x.x
AT these plain proofs of Alfred's infidelity, Julia's sweet throat began to swell hysterically, and then her bosom to heave and pant: and, after a piteous struggle, came a pa.s.sion of sobs and tears so wild, so heart-broken, that Edward blamed himself bitterly for telling her.
But Mrs. Dodd sobbed ”No, no, I would rather have her so; only leave her with me now: bless you, darling: leave us quickly.”
She rocked and nursed her deserted child hours and hours: and so the miserable day crawled to its close.