The Lost Lady of LoneSouthworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
General
The Lost Lady of Lone
Southworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
Fiction
seemed to load the tables in costly gifts to the banker's daughter, and
marquis' bride.
In the bride's own luxurious dressing-room, the elegant bridal costume
was displayed. It consisted of a fine point-lace dress over a
trained-skirt of rich white satin, a full-length vail of priceless
cardinal point-lace; white kid boots, embroidered with small pearls;
white kid gloves, trimmed at the wrists with lace; wreath and bouquet of
orange flowers; necklace and pendant earrings and bracelets of rich
Oriental pearls, set with diamonds. These jewels were the imaginary gift
of the mad duke to the bride-elect of his son, and were paid for, as has
been already explained, by the bride's own father. A sentiment of tender
reverence for the unfortunate old duke had inspired Salome to select
these jewels from all the others that had been lavished upon her, to wear
on her wedding day.
To the credit of the good banker's delicacy and discretion let it be
said, that not even Salome knew but that this elegant gift had been given
by the duke in reality as it was in intention.
The Castle was now full of guests, friends of the bride and of her
father's family. The eight young ladies who were to attend her to the
altar, had arrived early in the afternoon, each chaperoned by her mother,
aunt, or some matronly friend. These had all been shown to their separate
apartments.
They assembled again at the seven o'clock dinner in the family
dining-room, and afterwards made a little tour of inspection through
the rooms, looking with approval and admiration upon the sumptuous
wedding-breakfast table, set in the great dining-room, and with surprise
and enthusiasm at the splendid wedding presents displayed in the
drawing-room. Finally, after a social cup of tea, they separated and
retired to their several rooms, that they might be up in good time the
next morning.
When Salome entered her own bed-chamber, she found the old housekeeper,
Girzie Ross, awaiting her.
"I took the liberty, me leddy, to come to see ye, gin ye hae ony commands
for me the night," said the dame, courtesying.
"No, Mrs. Ross, I have no orders to give. All is done, as I understand.
If there be anything left undone, you will use you own discretion about
it. I can thoroughly trust you," said Salome.
"Guid-night, then, me leddy. And a guid rest and a blithe waking till
ye," said the dame, courtesying again, and turning to leave the room.
"One moment, Mrs. Ross, if you please," said the young lady, gently
arresting her steps.
"Ay, me leddy, as mony as ye'll please," promptly replied the dame,
returning to her place.
"I wish to ask you a question," began Salome, in a slow and hesitating
manner. "Have you seen or heard anything more of that girl, Mrs. Ross?"
"Meaning that ne'er-do-weel light o' love Rose Cameron, me leddy!"
inquired the housekeeper.
"Yes, Rose Cameron. There have been such crowds of people on the island
today to inspect the decorations, that I thought--I thought--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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