A LIFE FOR A LIFE By Dinah Maria Craik The Author Of "John Halifax, Gentleman," "A Woman's Thoughts About Women," &c., &c. In Three Volumes. Vol. III. London: Hurst And Blackett, Publishers, 1859 CHAPTER I. HER STORY. |Many, many weeks, months indeed have gone by since I opened this my journal. Can I bear the sight of it even now? Yes; I think I can. I have been sitting ever so long at the open window, in my old attitude, elbow on the sill; only with a difference that seems to come natural now, when no one is by. It is such a comfort to sit with my lips on my ring. I asked him to give me a ring, and he did so. Oh! Max, Max, Max! Great and miserable changes have befallen us, and now Max and I are not going to be married. Penelope's marriage also has been temporarily postponed, for the same reason, though I implored her not to tell it to Francis, unless he should make very particular inquiries, or be exceedingly angry at the delay. He was not. Nor did we judge it well to inform Lisabel. Therefore, papa, Penelope, and I, keep our own secret. Now that it is over, the agony of it smothered up, and all at Rockmount goes on as heretofore, I sometimes wonder, do strangers, or intimates, Mrs. Granton for instance, suspect anything? Or is ours, awful as it seems, no special and peculiar lot? Many another family may have its own lamentable secret, the burthen of which each member has to bear, and carry in society a cheerful countenance, even as this of mine. Mrs. Granton said yesterday, mine was "a cheerful countenance." If so, I am glad. Two things only could really have broken my heart--his ceasing to love me, and his changing so in _himself_, not in his circumstances, that I could no longer worthily love him. By "him," I mean, of course Max. Max Urquhart, my betrothed husband, whom henceforward I can never regard in any other light. How blue the hills are, how bright the moors! So they ought to be, for it is near midsummer. By this day fortnight--Penelope's marriage-day--we shall have plenty of roses. All the better; I would not like it to be a dull wedding, though so quiet; only the Trehernes and Mrs. Granton as guests, and me for the solitary bridesmaid. "Your last appearance I hope, Dora, in that capacity," laughed the dear old lady. "'Thrice a bridesmaid, ne'er a bride,' which couldn't be thought of, you know. No need to speak--I guess why your wedding isn't talked about yet.--The old story, man's pride, and woman's patience. Never mind. Nobody knows anything but me, and I shall keep a quiet tongue in the matter. Least said is soonest mended. All will come right soon, when the Doctor is a little better off in the world." I let her suppose so. It is of little moment what she or anybody thinks, so that it is nothing ill of him. "Thrice a bridesmaid, never a bride." Even so. Yet, would I change lots with our bride Penelope, or any other bride? No.