The Belle of Bowling Green
watched his daughter for a year without coming to a very clear
diagnosis of the conditions that alone would give her happiness; and he
had plenty of that wisdom which knows the art of turning the inevitable
into the thing most desirable. The hour had come. Sappha had waited with
a beautiful patience for it; he was resolved to give her its joy, fully
and freely, and without any holdback.
“Carlita,” he said, as soon as mutual greetings were over, “Carlita,
Leonard wishes to marry Sappha at once, and go with us to England. I
think it is a good plan. What say you?”
“I think with you always, Gerardus.”
“Such hurry will only admit of a very simple wedding ceremony, but
Leonard says that is what Sappha and he prefer; and as it is their
marriage, they have a right of choice. Eh, Leonard?”
“As you say, sir. Mr. and Mrs. Livingston will represent my friends, and
if Sappha’s nearest relatives are witnesses the company will be of the
proper size. Why should we ask half of New York to gaze at the most
sacred and private of all domestic events?”
“Well, then, we will let it be so. Can you arrange for such a wedding,
Carlita--say on the morning of the day we leave?”
“I can do my best, Gerardus.”
“The packet sails at two o’clock in the afternoon. I suppose the
marriage could take place at twelve.”
“Better say at ten o’clock, Gerardus. We shall need time to change our
dresses and pack up the last things.”
“True. Then, Leonard, we will say ten o’clock next Wednesday. Is that
right?”
“If Sappha and Mrs. Bloommaert say so. I suppose it cannot be Saturday
or Monday?”
“Impossible,” answered Mrs. Bloommaert. “There is a wedding dress to
make.”
“Sappha has plenty of pretty dresses.”
“She has not, however, a wedding dress. She cannot be married without
one.”
“Then perhaps it ought to be bought to-night. There is plenty of time
yet.”
“In the morning will do.”
“If it should not be ready----”
“I will attend to that,” said Mrs. Bloommaert, and her manner was not
only confident, but final on the subject.
“I must go out for an hour after tea, but when I return we can talk over
a few business points,” said the judge to Leonard; and the young man was
so elated and happy he only smiled; he could say neither yes nor no;
everything had slipped from his consciousness but the joy of being near
Sappha, of seeing her face, of hearing her speak, and feeling the clasp
of her hand within his own.
Then when the judge had gone Mrs. Bloommaert said to Sappha: “I have a
letter to write to your grandmother; a very important letter, and I
shall have to pick my thoughts, and choose my words, and that is a
thing I cannot do if you and Leonard are whispering behind me. Go into
the other parlour, and make your little arrangements there.”
Very willingly they obeyed, and the sight of the piano was enough to
raise the spirit of melody in Leonard’s heart. “Let us sing one song
together, dearest,” he said, and Sappha found the key of the locked
instrument, while Leonard searched among the piled music sheets for some
song fit for the happy hour.
“Love’s Maytime,” he cried. “That sounds well.” And he stooped and
kissed her as she seated herself. Their heads bent toward each other,
they were radiant with the most transporting love and their hearts
ravished with the bliss of their reunion.
“Sing, my love, and sadden me into deeper joy,” whispered Leonard; and
soft and low to the simple melody Sappha sang:
“We two will see the springtime still
In days with autumn rife;
When wintry winds blow bleak and chill
And we near the bourne of life.
“For love is ever young and kind,
And love will with us stay
Till we in Life’s December find
A path of endless May.”
--_Louis Ledoux._
Leonard caught the melody quickly, and Mrs. Bloommaert stopped her
writing to listen. “Their voices are like one,” she thought. “They are
happy, they may be more so, but ‘a path of endless May’ is asking a
great deal; and yet, as we grow old and unbeautiful, the thought of
endless life, and endless youth, and endless love, and endless May helps
to make grey hair and failing strength bearable. What was it I heard
Rose singing last night? Something of the same kind--some Methodist hymn
about endless spring:
“There everlasting spring abides
And never fading flowers.”
“Yes, everlasting spring would bring endless May, but I wish they would
not now sing about it, the music interferes, I cannot write my letter,
and if madame is not immediately informed of the marriage she will be
offended.” Yet she did not silence the music. She understood that for
the lovers the world was just then revolving in Paradise, and that music
is the language of Paradise. So she erased, and wrote over, and finally
finished with an apology for all her mistakes.
Very soon the judge returned, and when he had lit his pipe he called
Leonard to join him; and they sat down together and talked of their
intended voyage. “It is a purely business visit to England as far as I
am concerned,” said the judge, “but we intend to be seen and to see; for
there are many Americans in London at present, and with some of them I
am familiar. May I ask, Leonard, what is taking you across the Atlantic
at this time? Is Sappha entirely accountable?”
“Not quite, sir,” Leonard answered. “Sooner or later this year I must
have gone to Scotland to fulfil my father’s last charge to me.” No one
questioned this remark, and Leonard continued: “After the defeat at
Sheriffmuir my great-grandfather found himself on the brink of ruin. His
clan had virtually perished, and he had given his last sovereign to _The
Cause_. Emigration was all that remained and he was the more eager for
this outlet when he learned that his name was on the list of the
proscribed chiefs, and his life in danger. He went to the Earl of Moray,
who had not been ‘out,’ and sold his estate to him on these conditions:
To the third generation it was to be redeemable; but if not then
ransomed it might be sold, though only to a purchaser bearing the name
of Murray. My father hoped to be the saviour of the place, but he died
before the investments made for this purpose had grown to sufficient
increase. On his deathbed he solemnly left this duty to my management;
and I vowed to him to fulfil every obligation to the last tittle. I now
find myself able to honour my pledge, and I am going to Scotland to do
it.”
“That is right,” said the judge. “Where is this estate?”
“In the Highlands of Scotland, north of Inverness. It is a romantic
country, and I expect great pleasure from the journey; especially as I
hope now that Sappha may go with me; but we can decide that question
when we are closer to it.”
“Certainly. You intend then to buy back the estate? Will that be of any
advantage to you?”
“Not financially--just yet. But I have great faith in the future of
land.”
“What will you do with it? Rent it?”
“No. The few Murrays yet remaining there would resent a stranger over
them. I shall leave the oldest of the clan guardian of the place. The
land will not run away. The house is built of immense blocks of granite,
and may stand a thousand years. In time I shall find a profitable use
for both house and land--one can always trust land.”
This subject naturally brought to discussion a home in New York, and the
judge said, “As the Government House is on the point of being pulled
down, I shall buy a lot on the south of the Bowling Green and build a
handsome dwelling on it for Sapphira. Like you, Leonard, I have faith in
land. When this part of the city ceases to be socially desirable it will
become commercially valuable; and commerce pays good rentage.”
It was near midnight when all subjects growing out of this sudden change
of intentions had been discussed; and the days that followed were days
of hurry and happiness. But every one entered so heartily into the
joyful girl’s marriage that nothing was belated or neglected, and on the
evening before the desired day there was time for all to sit down and
arrange the final ceremonies. It was then that Leonard put into Sappha’s
hand, as he bid her good-night, the beauteous gift which is yet worn by
her great-granddaughter. With a kiss and a blessing he put it into her
hand, and she took it into the lighted parlour to examine. It was
addressed only
“_To Sapphira, Sapphires_,”
and when the cover of the box was removed she discovered a necklace of
those exquisite Asteria sapphires which have in the centre of their
heavenly blue opalescence a star of six rays. The judge had already seen
them. He said Leonard had bought them from a Creole jeweller in New
Orleans, and that they had once belonged to a beautiful princess of
Ceylon.
But whatever their history, never had they clasped the throat of a
lovelier woman than Sapphira Bloommaert on the day of her wedding. The
little company invited were gathered in the ordinary sitting-room of her
father’s house, but the June sunshine flooded gloriously the homelike
place; and Annette, who had been freely forgiven, had made it a bower of
white roses. On the hearthstone stood the domine, and the bride’s mother
and grandmother were on either side of him. Mr. and Mrs. Livingston, Mr.
and Mrs. Morris, Annette and Achille, Peter and his betrothed, Josette
Genaud, were the witnesses.
It was on her father’s arm the lovely Sapphira entered. Every one
instinctively felt her approach; conversation ceased, laughter was
hushed, all were at pleased attention when they heard the light
footsteps and the gentle rustling of the silk wedding gown. A kind of
radiance came in with her; came from her tall bright beauty, from the
glow in her eyes, from her fresh, sweet face, from the warm lights about
her shining hair, and the scintillating glory of the gems around her
white neck. In her hand she held a perfect white rose, and either of
design or by some fortunate accident she stood exactly on the spot where
she had parted from Leonard with the rejected, scattered rose between
them. But true love knows not rejection; from the ends of the earth it
returns to its own; it cannot retain a memory of offence for ever and
ever; it not only gives, but forgives.
Three hours after the ceremony the Bloommaert household were on their
way to England, and Peter had charge of the house on the Bowling Green.
“We shall be back in the fall of the year,” the judge said to his son,
“for I have much to attend to in New York this coming winter.”
* * * * *
The judge kept his promise, but Leonard and Sappha did not return with
him. Sappha had accompanied her husband to Scotland, and after his
mission to the Highlands had been accomplished they lingered a while in
Edinburgh. Here they met an old acquaintance who was going to Holland
and Belgium, and they went with him to these countries. Then, the
wander-fever being still upon Leonard, they travelled southward to
France and Italy, returning to England by the usual tourist route
through Switzerland. And, as at that day the facilities for travel were
small, and its difficulties and hindrances for travel many and
perplexing, it was more than a year before they again reached London,
and turned their faces westward and homeward.
Homeward! The word tasted sweet in Sappha’s mouth. She said it over and
over, and the first sight of the open arms of the low-lying American
shore brought happy tears to her eyes. The Bowling Green at last! After
so many strange lands, after so many wonderful days in the old, old
world, here was the fresh young world, with all its splendid hopes
again! The flag they loved, the homes they knew, the people who belonged
to them--these things were best of all; dearest of all were the